Between Shadows V Dust N'Bones
by Scb047
Summary: Xander’s spin-off series, set a few years in the future in New York. Recovering from his injuries, Xander is suddenly beset by an uncontrollable series of visions that threaten his sanity as well as the lives of everyone around him.
1. Wasted Dreams

Between Shadows

Between Shadows

Episode V: Dust N' Bones

Title: Between Shadows (Episode V: Dust N' Bones) part 1/4

Author: Scb047 (scb047@hotmail.com)

Summary: Xander's spin-off series, set a few years in the future in New York. Recovering from his injuries, Xander is suddenly beset by an uncontrollable series of visions that threaten his sanity as well as the lives of everyone around him. 

Distribution: Distribute away, no permission required.

Feedback: Please do.

Disclaimer: If you want to sue me, first you gotta catch me. Long live the joys of copyright infringements!!! Avenge Napster!!! We remember…

Sitting on the side of a small rolling hill in the early afternoon sun was a simple pleasure. However, it was one the young man sitting on the red-checkered cloth, with his girlfriend fiddling with the wicker picnic basket, had a unique appreciation of. He smiled to himself, watching her golden hair dance in the soft breeze. It was strange, he thought, that most people with their 9to5 lives and their consumer obsessions, rarely took the time to enjoy the simple things. It seemed that until you had seen death in you're friends eyes, until you had to wash their blood from your clothes, enjoying fresh air and a few laughs was too simple a thing for people's modern lives. How many friends did you need to bury, he wondered. How many times had he had to think of a few words to say at the ceremony or write a letter to his subordinate's family, unable to reveal the true circumstances surrounding their beloved death? Too many, but now, he sure enjoyed the simple things.

"What type of tea you want? Chai? Green?" she asked cheerily, placing a kettle over a small butane stove. She held up both pouches, an infectious smile on her lips.

"How 'bout Earl Gray?" he asked, her eyebrow rising at the question.

"Earl Gray? Xander, how Giles-ish of you," she teased him, producing another pouch from the picnic basket.

"Hey!" retorted Xander, throwing a sandwich at her, which she caught effortlessly. "I did spend a year in England, you know, Dragon-12, and all."

"See, I never understood why it had to be based in London, I mean, you and Riley are both American, and so were a lot of your guys from what you told me?"

"Well, we were basically a worldwide response team and it was easier to do that from London. All airline leads to London, it's like the traveler's center of the world. And we had a lot of Brits, Germans and French too, for your information."

"Not boring B. with your shop talk again, are you Boy Toy?" asked Faith as she appeared over the hill, swaggering down, Dawn in tow. Both the girls quickly joined the couple on the picnic tablecloth, Faith assaulting the basket for some food.

"My bad, Faith," explained Buffy, "I kind of stepped on that land mine."

"Ouch, major bore-damage," responded Faith, gulping down the sandwich and reaching for a new one.

"Well I find Xander's stories very interesting."

"Thank you Dawnster, I feel a big Birthday gift coming up for my favorite little suck-up."

"Hey!" said Buffy lightly, bombarding Xander with sandwiches. "Do not call my sister a suck-up."

"I am not a suck up," added Dawn, "you… you big…"

"… moronic waste of human genes? Walking virus? Lousy lay? Idiotic two-bit…" offered Faith merrily until a sandwich hurled from Xander's direction hit her square on the chin. She laughed it off and the group tightened, rapidly exchanging pleasantries and comments on their lunch spot, the brand new Sunnydale cemetery 12. Not long ago, this long stretch of fenced rolling hills had been called the Grant Memorial Park. It had been converted only three months ago into the newest addition to Sunnydale's disproportionately large family of final resting places. Marble tombstones were starting to sprout from the luscious green grass, mausoleums snuggled themselves between elm trees and willows.

"So how come you guys were late?" asked Buffy between bites.

"Little sis here is puttin' up a song and dance number for the school talent show. So I was just showing her some of my wicked dance moves," answered Faith.

"You do know she can't win if she's expelled for indecency, right?" quipped Xander, summing up the worries on Buffy's face.

"Don't worry guys," reassured Faith, "all moves are poles and twenty dollars bills free."

"I wish Spike could be here," said Dawn as she looked up in the blue sky. "Of course he wouldn't be eating anything, and probably would be burnt to a crisp, but it still be fun to have him around."

"We'll go see Evil Dead afterwards, Dawny, scouts honor," said Xander.

The sun grew cold and the warm feeling of belonging disappeared as an unexplainable chill coursed through Xander. He felt ill, looking up at the sky, seeing it darken inexplicably, his sandwich tasted like sulfur. "What are you doing here?" asked Buffy, looking beyond Xander, dread in her eyes. Something was wrong and he knew it way before turning around, something was out of place. What he felt then, as his eyes widen at the form behind him, was sheer horror. 

Willow stood before them, blood sliding down her face, a huge chunk of her cranium missing. She was calm, her eyes zombie-white and her skin pale, bluish veins webbing all over her cheeks.

"I wanted to join you," she said calmly, before raising her voice. "But I can't, can I? Can I, Xander!"

"No," he responded faintly, backing away as she followed. This wasn't real, this had never happened. Dawn and Faith continued to eat their sandwich as if nothing was going on, Buffy horrified but unresponsive.

"Why is that Xander! WHY IS THAT, XANDER!" she screamed, Xander on the verge of tears. Suddenly, Faith caught his attention, talking between bites of her sandwich.

"Oh that reminds me, Boy Toy" she said casually before her voice changed to the baroque cry of thousands of souls. "Don't you know I'm waiting for you."

No standard scream.

Xander woke up in sweat and quickly sated the desire he felt to destroy something by clearing his desk with one swipe of his left arm. Grunting, yelling, he then buried his fist in the closest wall. His erratic breath calmed itself after a moment as he stared at his bloodied hand, his other arm slung in a blue support and cased in solid plaster for the next few months. A third break of the elbow was no small thing.

After a moment of hesitating between reaching for the bottle of whiskey he'd purchased the night before in a moment of weakness, he opted for a more sensible alternative: that lovely thing called pain. Dropping to the floor, he started pushing, his bloody knuckle carrying painfully most of his weight. He rose slowly and methodically, using the same attention to details on the way down. Perfect movement. One handed push-up without any momentum.

"One… two… three…" Mid-way through the fourth movement, Katrina came bursting in through the door wearing a nightgown, baseball bat in hand. She looked down on Xander, who chose to ignore her, and then at his personal effects that were spread across the floor. She sighed, pushing back blond strands of hair from her eyes.

"What's going on? I heard a scream?"

"My desk attacked me," responded Xander as he kept pushing, his medallion banging on the floor with every downward movement.

"Xan, you wan to talk about this?"

"What push-ups, sure. You see, there are two movements to a push-up, up and down. It is of the outmost importance that your back be straight at all time, or you're cheating. If you go too fast than you cheat as well. I used to be able to do thirty one hand-push up with my left, it's been a while, but I think I can manage 35, if I really drive it."

"Are you done?"

"Oh also, the more your arm is away from your body, the less you work you're triceps and the…"

"Xander, I'm not laughing. If you don't want to talk about it, just say so, I don't need you jerking me around."

"You normal people always have the impression that if you talk about it, it'll just go away. Well, I've got news for you, some stuff, the real heavy stuff, it never goes away. It's more consistent than death and taxes." As he spoke, her eyes caught a shiny golden object on the floor next to her feet. She seized it realizing she'd never seen it before. It was a piece of something bigger, one his side semi-circular. It was beautiful.

"What's this?" she asked.

"26…oh that, that's just something I picked up," he said with a grin.

"Mais Foutre!" yelled out LaMontagne, his face seemed to be turning red with anger. The Frenchman paced around Mason's lavish office on the top floor of a skyscraper. His taste in clothing spoke of exceedingly expensive habits. Silk shirts and ties, bright burgundy framed by a pitch black Verscache, single-breasted suit.

"So the other piece of the Oerta was missing when you got there," asked Mason very serenely. He sat behind his desk, dressed in a less flashy beige suit that was worth probably three times as much as his henchmen's entire wardrobe.

"Yes, instead, I find this," continued LaMontagne, handing over a piece of paper to his boss. Mason carefully unfolded the paper and after scanning it a moment held it toward Faith who sat bored in one of the chairs on the side of the room, looking idly between the multitude of expensive artwork that decorated the office, and the large set of bullet proof windows, creating a convex wall of night behind Mason. 

"It's for you." She snatched it from his hand and sighed before reading the message out loud.

"Ho Ho Ho, look at that Firecracker, I can still pick a lock with just my left hand." She crushed the paper into a small ball and threw it angrily in the garbage can. Mason never took his eyes off of her.

"So he's still alive. Of course, I suspected as much when his body wasn't recovered by the police after they raided the place."

"I swear, he looked dead…"

"That's quite alright, Faith. I understand that you have been involved with him a long time and that might hinder your objectivity a bit. That's completely acceptable, I know at the end of the day you are a true professional, anyways I would rather have Xander alive as well."

"Why, he's worthless, just say the word and I'll bring you his head on a plate," remarked LaMontagne, leaning back against the closest of the sixth Corinthian columns that lined the gigantic office. Faith rolled her eyes.

"Tell inspector Clouseau he best put a lid on that stupid macho contest he has with my Boy Toy or he's liable to end up more bent over than his entire country was in WWII."

"Are you threatening me?" he asked, closing the distance between them.

"No, I'm saying if you keep underestimating him, he'll kill you, or make you wish he did. He's probably one of the most dangerous man on earth, he's in my weight class, you're not even close."

"I was GIGN! I was their top man for ten years!" he yelled, stating over things she long knew. She rolled her eyes.

"Then I'm sure you got the memo about not to fuck with Captain Harris from Dragon-12, he was and still is the best in the world."

"I heard all the stories. He was good, 'cause he had a Slayer backing him up, I'm better."

"Please," intervened Mason. "I have a solution to our Xander problem, one that I'm sure will please all." He reached under his desk and pressed a button. There was a buzz and the doors to the side of the room swung open, revealing a mysterious figure, clothed in a thick purple domino, the hood hiding the person's face. The figure glided over the floor until it stood in front of the desk. LaMontagne shied away, uneasy by the figure's presence.

"I've hired a witch to help us take care of Xander."

"What is she gonna do?" asked a worried Faith. The figure was utterly silent, hovering half a foot above the floor.

"Don't worry Faith, she's just gonna weaken him mentally. Destroy this resolve he has of doing the right thing, so instead he'll come work with us."

"Five by Five, but exactly what is the bitch gonna do to him?"

"Make him remember," answered the witch, her voice delicate, yet full of hatred.

"What is it you're not telling me, Xander?" asked Giles, his voice crackling over the phone.

"Oh, nothing! It's just I didn't get the first piece that's all. They'd already snatched it when we got there."

"I have to say, I find your story rather peculiar Xander, considering I'm holding a New York times from last week and on page twelve is a story about the Manhattan mall being burglarize. It says here that the police found lots of blood at the scene and various signs of struggle, including and I cite, a .45 caliber pistol and a Japanese sword. You care to explain?"

"Well okay," said Xander, scrambling for a lie, "we got our butts kicked, is that want you wanted to hear, Giles? Me and Faith took a pounding, I got my arm broken and everything. Happy?"

"Let me talk to Faith, would you Xander?"

"She's not here. She… she went shopping." Xander winced, knowing too well the lie wouldn't stick. Giles had called out of the blue, Xander having all but forgotten about the watcher, and he hadn't had time to come up with a few intelligent and rehearsed lies.

"This early in the morning? I think not Xander. You mind telling me what happened or should I just assume you're covering for Faith?"

"Alright," conceded Xander, his shoulders slumping down as he stared outside the window of the living room. "She switched sides again, but Giles, and I mean it, let me handle this."

"I would love to Xander, but a slayer? By yourself? I certainly think I should send a few watchers to help you out, maybe contact Riley, I certainly think he would…"

"No. I'll handle it by myself. As much as I trust you and Riley with my life, I think anybody else you'd send me to deal with this problem might be a tad trigger happy about the whole deal. I'm not ready to give up on her, I can bring her back, I know it. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

"Please don't be offended by this Xander, but remember when Angel went bad. Remember how you criticized Buffy for not killing him, for letting him live and continue the killing. What about all the people Faith is going to murder now, Xander?"

"Well, G-man, things look a whole lot different in this seat, not that I haven't been there before if you recall, and frankly, I'm not the idealist kid I used to be in High School. If she kills a few people, so be it. I can live with a few more deaths on my conscience."

"I'm not sure that I can, Xander."

"Well, you just remember this, Giles. I could never hurt you, but you send people after her, and I'll send you their heads in boxes, you understand? And if you get lucky, and one of them succeeds, I'll burn the watcher's council to the ground. I'll kill all your people, you'll be the only one spared. Am I clear?" 

"Yes, crystal, but what if she doesn't stop? What if the body count keeps rising?"

"Then I'll either take care of business or join in on the fun. You just best keep out of my business either way."

"I can't say I'm too thrilled by your attitude, Xander, but if this is the way it has to be. I just hope you remember Buffy and what she stood and died for. I hope you honor her memory by following her example."

"I'll try too, Giles. Lord knows I keep trying."

"I hope so Xander. For now, I leave Faith in your capable hands, but if you should follow her into darkness… Suffice to say I have my own duties to live up too. I would hate for us to become enemies."

"Me too. I'll send you my piece of the Oerta, priority mail. In the meanwhile, I'd like to mention something about the dreams I've been having lately," said Xander, contemplating the broken piece of the gilded seal in his hands. Suddenly, his attention was drawn upwards by movement somewhere outside the living room window, but there was nothing there now. He raised an eyebrow, squirming uncomfortably on the couch, a strange feeling bubbling inside him. He could have sworn he'd seen something.

"Please go on." Giles voice snapped him back to reality.

"Huh, yeah. I get this particular dream, I'm standing in the Fields of Blood, and I'm surrounded by two armies of demons. One of the two got this guy riding around in front of them on a horse of bones. He looks human, but he's got fire coming out of his left eye socket, just like an archdemon."

"Did you get a good look at his face? Is he doing anything particular?" asked Giles. Xander took a moment to answer as he looked back into the kitchen, an image of someone had lurked there a moment ago, but had been gone once he had completed his turn, as if it existed only in the edge of his vision. He grew quiet a moment, nervously checking if his medallion was becoming warm. It was cold.

"No," he said absently, scanning his surrounding. "His face is always away from me, but he does say something. "I am the pale rider, and today all hell rides behind me". Then he draws a dark blade and he dashes off army in tow."

"Mmm. A bible paraphrase."

"Yeah, I know Giles, "Revelations", the fourth horsemen, Death. I remember."

"Well it's all very peculiar, but there's not much to go on, perhaps you have something else?" Xander felt a hand on his shoulder and instantly spun around, ready to fight. His heart was pounding and terror settled in with a grim cold chilling his back. Nothing there. There was no one around, the house as silent as it was deserted, everybody were off to their morning classes which Xander had decided to skip. Something freaky was going on, but after a moment Xander turned back his attention to Giles.

"Huh, yeah. He wore a glove on his left hand, and the troops of demons were yelling something. Kasoosh, katoosh… huh, wait… karoosh, that's the one, karoosh. Over and over again."

"Mmm. Sounds like Noble Speak, I'll have to research it. As you know, it'll probably take sometime, Noble Speak being what it is."

"I know Giles, just do your best…" Xander's voice trailed off, the phone slipping from his grasp. He stared outside the window at the horror that stood there. He was frozen, horrified beyond any description. She stood there in the morning sun, as she had in his nightmare. Willow, stared at him, with her zombie-white eyes and her blue veins streaked face. The blood slid gently from her half-exploded cranium, her bluish lips mouthed off soundless words mechanically, but Xander knew how to read lips.

"Xander…?" Giles voice echoed from the ground, but his friend's mind was somewhere else. Somewhere, in the frozen eternity of that moment, staring back into those dead eyes, the training kicked in, that part of Xander's mind that took over when he saw something so horrible he felt like curling into a ball and weeping the hours away. Before he knew it, he stood outside, the front door wide open behind him. She was gone, his senses quickly returning with that realization. He looked from left to right and all around and saw nothing, she was gone, just as if he'd woken up from a dream. Cold sweat was running down his face. 

Unbeknownst to him, across the street skulked a robed figure, hidden from view by a tree. The witch hovered, her face hidden under the purple hood and a smile on her lips as she secretly watched Xander Lavelle Harris terrified and frantic, pacing around on his front lawn, repeating in his mind the words Willow had been saying.

"I planted a tree and watched it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow."

Xander sat quietly at his regular place in Professor Barnum political class. He had yet to apologize for his behavior from last time and that had been one of his priorities until the morning's incident. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened, if Skoll had been messing around with his mind again or if some bad memories were just surging all of a sudden to play games with him. Xander had done a lot of things over the years that had came back to bother him, sometimes even in fashion similar to this. He would be walking down the street when suddenly he'd get this feeling he was back in a Bolivian jungle being fired at or would catch something out of the corner of his eyes he would believe to be this Karskov demon that had almost chopped his head off back in Albania, but it never had felt so real as it had felt today. Perhaps the post traumatic stress was starting to kick in, or maybe he was just loosing his mind, he didn't know nor would it help him one bit to. That was one of the major drawbacks of being a demon hunter, you can't exactly share what's troubling you with a psychologist, unless you're fond of straight jackets.

He bowed his head, not listening to Barnum's lecture on the greatest assassinations and assassinations attempts in history, a lecture that complimented directly with last week's exploration of Cornell Brasov's untimely demise. Xander didn't listen one bit, reliving the incident over and over in his mind, as his friends carefully took notes. _Was it really Willow I saw? Could it have been somebody else? It can't be, she's dead… and dead people have never been known to come back from the dead, yeah. Go tell that to Spike._

"…JFK's assassination, allegedly by Lee Harvey Oswald, is with very little doubt one if not the most famous assassination of the twentieth century. The story is this, on November 22 1963 in Dallas, Texas, perched in the nearby Texas School Book Depository, Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly fired at the President, hitting him once in the throat, and then once in the head…"

"Sloppy isn't it?" said someone leaning to whisper in Xander's ear with a thick slavish accent. Xander turned his head to gasp at the atrocity to his right, Cornell Brasov sat next to him, smiling his forehead perforated by a 7.62 gunshot wound. "It only took you one shot to kill me."

"What the fuck!" yelled out Xander jumping back. The brown haired girl that normally sat next to him was back in her seat and the whole room stared at him questioningly.

"Please try to restrain your enthusiasm, Mr. Harris. Though it is appreciated, I would preferred if you tried not to be so loud about it. However, I understand your passion, these facts simply do not match the explanation we were given," spoke calmly Barnum as Xander sat back down muttering a sorry that was lost in the flood of giggles surrounding him. Gabe, Marcus and Garrett stared bewilderedly at him.

"Well that was rather rude of him, comrade. One with a conscience such as yours should be allowed a little leeway. Am I right Captain?" continued Brasov, back from wherever he had hidden. Xander did as best as he could to ignore him.

"That's good, captain, don't listen to them," spoke a voice he whished he had long forgotten. He caught a sight of NSA agent Clark's baldhead out of the corner of his left eye, standing like a prick in the middle of the next row. "You did a good job, kid. You did your duty as a citizen and officer of the United States of America and nothing can take that away from you. I didn't mind it one bit when you blew my car up, my children understand. Right kids?" As he finished, the two animated bodies of children, crispy and burnt black, came out of nowhere to hug their father who grinned childishly.

"Go away, you're not real, both of you," gritted Xander as he stroked the cold medallion.

"California, who are you talking to?" asked Gabe, but his friend's eyes were fixed in the distance, horror on his face. He didn't respond.

"Sir, Platoon 2, reporting to die, sir!" yelled out Sergeant Jackson the platoon filed perfectly behind him., standing at attention before their Captain. Sergeant Jackson had his throat cut, just like it had been by the claw of that Erosyr demon back in Singapore. 

"Ready to die, sir! Ouah!" yelled the troop in unison. Xander remembered all their names. Thompson with the gunshot wound to the head. Gruner, eviscerated like a lab animal. Marquette with his bowels at his feet. York with the giant hole in his chest.

Xander closed his eyes but snapped them right back open as he heard Willow speaking in his left ear. "Oh, no you don't, Xander! You watch us, you watch us die again."

"Willow," the name escaped his lips as he turned toward her. She leaned over the table behind him, looking the horrific way she had in his nightmares. Tears were starting to form in Xander's eyes.

"Willow? Who's Willow, that's Marcy." Gabe's voice was distant, fading away with the rest of Xander's surroundings. Xander was besieged by ghosts of the past, the small auditorium lined only with gruesome images he whished he'd long forgotten, and he almost had until now.

"Why? Why Xander?" moaned thousands of voices all around him. He stared straight ahead his breathing becoming erratic. He was trying as hard as he could to ignore everything, but there was no way around it. Suddenly, a brown haired girl sitting in front of him spun, revealing herself to be Cordelia Chase, looking just as she had when they were both dating the first time some seven years ago. She glared at him.

"You know what I really love, looser? Is that I'm special to you, not only because I was your first girlfriend, but because I'm the only girl you took the time to screw over twice. How romantic." As if her words had not been painful enough, as if to compound his guilt over his relationship's misfortunes, the blond girl to Cordy's right turned around as well. Xander gasped again at the shock of seeing Anya staring sadly at him, Angel's arrow buried in her chest.

"What about me? Why didn't you protect me? Was it the sex? Was the sex not good enough, Xander?" 

"No!" whispered Xander, tears starting to slide down his face. 

"You know what I always felt helped in a situation like this, a good whipping." A baroque voice on the far right, the voice of a nightmare. Xander glared at Asmodeus with pure hatred. The archdemon stood 8 feet tall, a gilded cup of bone in his hand, thick crimson blood overflowing its brim. He was dress in a long flowing black cloak and the rest of his lavish ceremonial garments.

"You! You're doing this to me!" spat Xander.

"Me? No, Mr.Harris. I'm afraid I'm nothing else than another figment of your insane fantasy. Bloodwine?" He offered the cup.

Xander turned away catching a glimpse of Buffy standing calmly in the middle of a storm of yells and accusatory glares. She seemed different than the other visions there. She seemed forgiving and beautiful. Xander felt suddenly serene, he felt something warm against the skin of his chest. Buffy's eyes were full of compassion and gentleness; her mouth was moving slowly but no sound were reaching Xander's ears. He fought hard trying to concentrate enough to read her lips but then suddenly Faith, dressed up in a revealing cheerleader outfit, appeared out of nowhere and cleaved the blond slayer's head off. Dropping the sword she then join a squad of women similarly dressed, all of which Xander recognized immediately. Ampata, Miss. French, Joyce, Miss. Calender, and a few other women he had watched die along the way. They started a routine before Xander's disbelieving eyes.

"Go Xander, Go, Go, Go Xander. Xander he's our man, if he can't kill us no one can. Go Xander, Go, Go, Go Xander!" His patience was wearing thin, all these voices repeating over and over again what they had said already, their voices overlapping blending into each other forming a maddening crescendo. His entire body was trembling, anger and madness coursing through his veins. His eyes were closed as he felt someone shaking him, his breathing frantic. Xander finally sprung through his feet, pushing off the imaginary fiends that surrounded him, yelling at the top of his lungs, "Shut up! All of you!"

"Mr.Harris!" said Barnum appalled. Everything was back to normal in the political classroom, else for the shocked look on everyone's faces and Gabe who had been thrown out of his chair and now laid on the floor, bruised. "What is the matter with you?"

"What is the matter with you, huh?" Xander had tears in his eyes and was simply enraged beyond any logic. "You're all so fucking judgmental, with your everyday pretty little lives and you're unstained dignity. You're always quick to point the finger at what you think is wrong, but you never see the big picture. You never stop to think that maybe some things have to be done, that the only reason you people get to live your morally satisfying little lives is that somebody else is willing to dirty their hands and live with the guilt. Just like with Brasov, you don't know the whole story. You don't know why he had to die. You're all so quick to judge the shooter, but you never stop to think that maybe he didn't have a choice. Maybe he didn't want to do it. Maybe he was coerced!" Garrett looked at Xander in amazement, coming to a realization as he watched him yelled passionately at the professor. 

"Oh… my… god!" exclaimed Garrett, his voice hinting he was impressed. "You ex-military motherfucker, you took the shot didn't you? You're the one who shot Brasov."

"Shut up, Garrett!" yelled Xander pointing to him menacingly with the index finger of his one functioning arm. The entire room was starting to whisper, professor Barnum was stupefied.

"Is this true, Mr.Harris?"

"I'm out of here!" responded Xander, rudely pushing his way out to the door, disregarding his friends attempt to calm him down.


	2. Hollow Point

Between Shadows

The one good thing about being in a crowd was that the constant chatter all around prevented Xander from hearing the sound of his foot nervously tapping on the floor. Sitting in the middle of NYU's cafeteria, he sipped from his burning coffee, not reacting to the pain it caused; the cup trembled in his hands. He couldn't shake off the state the visions had left him in, and now he had the worst tremors he'd gotten in years. He almost jumped up when Katrina and Sanaz suddenly sat down by his side.

"Hey," started Sansaz, "What's wrong California? You look jumpy."

"Nothing, just… I don't know," he responded looking down at his coffee and taking another gulp.

"Oh, can I have sip?" asked Katrina, tasting Xander's coffee and quickly giving the cup back to him, her face distorted in pain. "Hot!!! How can you drink that?"

"Huh, what?" asked Xander snapping out of a moment of daze and confusion.

"The coffee, its boiling."

"Oh, that. You get use to it, fire, heat, it's not the worst pain you can imagine," he answered, taking another large sip.

"Okay, that's a little too S&M for me," said Sanaz, Xander suddenly standing up, he looked horrified staring in the distance. "Huh, I didn't mean that in a bad way, don't get all messed up… S&M is good it's … a way of…"

Xander had stopped listening to Sanaz somewhere around "okay"; he stared off into the crowd having an eerie feeling of being watched. He caught a glimpse of a red head moving rapidly through the circulation of busy students, disappearing and reappearing intermittently into view as the flow of students obstructed his vision. As hard as he tried, he couldn't get a good look at her face, concentrating all his effort on tracking her through the confusing environment. The eerie feeling subsided, being replaced instead by one of embarrassment, it was unlikely, and it was obviously his imagination. He chucked the whole thing on still being shaken from the day's earlier incident and was about to forget about the whole deal when the red head came to a full stop near the exit to the cafeteria. She slowly spun around and Xander's fears were confirmed. Willow stood some 20 meters away from him, her face untouched by any bluishness or traces of undeath, looking as alive as she ever had. She smiled sadly at him, her lips speaking a silent message, "I woke in sweat and saw a grave man, holding my lover's bloodied hand."

The coffee spread across the table as if it were a wave pushed onto a gray veneer beach. The plastic cover surfed along with the current, the empty paper cup rolling around at the source. Xander was bolting across the cafeteria, pushing his way through the crowd.

"Xander, where are you going!" yelled out Katrina, her and Sanaz taking after him but with more care and regard toward the people Xander had rudely pushed aside or knocked off their feet. They watched from afar as he disappeared outside the cafeteria, hesitating for a moment in the door, then sprinting right.

Turning around another corner, only to realize he had lost her once again, gave Xander the feeling that someone or something was playing games with him, that feeling was only reinforced as he spotted her once more across quite a distance, smiling at him again. The closer he came, the faster she disappeared, ducking around a corner into nothingness, suddenly reappearing further back along the way Xander had came, then heading in the opposite direction. This insane game of cat and mouse continued through the halls of NYU, Katrina and Sanaz catching up sporadically with the proverbial demand to know what Xander was chasing so frantically. He didn't respond though, a mad look on his face, his eyes spoke of fear and obsession.

"Willow!" he yelled at the top of his lungs and she turned somewhere at the end of a hallway, half the students doing the same, looking questioningly at Xander. She threw an evil smile at him and then turned around again, this time standing in place, her back to him. He tore down the hallway, Sanaz and Katerina following breathlessly behind him. This time, Willow did not move as he got closer and closer, his heartbeat rising with every step. Finally, he reached her.

"Willow!" he said breathlessly as he wheeled the young stupefied girl around. Xander was suddenly filled with embarrassment. The young woman had Willow's built and her red hair, but the similarity ended there.

"Let go, Jerk!" the girl said, slapping at Xander's iron grip on her arm. Xander was almost catatonic, staring emptily at her trying helplessly to break free, until he suddenly released her without ever attempting an apology of any form. She quickly stormed off, quite vexed as Xander's two friends finally joined him.

"Would… that… be… Willow?" asked Sanaz leaning on her knees as she caught her breath. He never responded, his face instead twitching with anger, his head turning slowly toward his left. 

He heard laughter, a deep baritone laughter that could only belong to Asmodeus, and sure enough the Archdemon stood proudly to his left, still sipping his bloodwine. "Having female issues again, Mr.Harris?"

"Asmodeus!" roared. Xander as he grabbed him with his left hand and shoved him hard against the wall. The Archdemon was still laughing, the flames pouring out of his left eye socket danced to that baroque rhythm. "You're doing this to me!"

Katrina and Sanaz wrapped their arms around Xander, powerless to pull him off the poor kid who was choking under the weight of the forearm pressed against his throat. "Jesus! Snap out of it Xan," yelled Katrina to no avail. She could no more reason with the frenzied madman her friend had become than the two girls could move him off the poor kid. 

"Stop playing with my mind!" yelled Xander. "I'll kill you, Asmodeus, I swear! Look at my face! Look at my face! I am your death!" 

"Xander!" yelled Katrina before slapping him hard in the face, bringing him suddenly back to reality. He released his grip on the kid just as he was about to turn blue, and backed away horrified and confused.

"What the hell is going on with you? You didn't get your fix of violence today?" asked Sanaz with an angry tone. Katrina tried to look sympathetic but was too shock by what had just transpired to make it convincing. She couldn't believe that had just a few more moments passed and Xander would have killed the student that was now kneeing on the floor trying to recover his breath. Students all around stared curiously at the event.

"I… I…" stuttered Xander, his hand covering his eyes. "… need a drink." 

Before Katrina could protest, Xander had taken off down the hallway at a speed the two winded women couldn't hope to keep up with.

"Is this a male thing I don't know about," asked Sanaz, "Like a violent-er version of PMS or something?"

Somewhere amidst the crowd of students, the hooded witch observed secretly. She smiled again, a sense of satisfaction growing in her. It was just the beginning, soon, she would start the real show and Xander Harris would understand the real meaning of the word suffering. Unbeknownst to her, a dark-haired slayer observed her from further down the corridor, hatred in her glare.

His hand trembled as he caressed the polymer casing of his Smith and Wesson SW99. He stared emptily at the black oxide finish of the handgun as he slowly loaded a clip manually with just his left hand. Sliding in .40 caliber rounds one after the other to the clips capacity of ten rounds. Images were flashing back to Xander as he sat on the living room couch of the place he had came to call home for the last two years, however it felt nothing like it at the moment.

The visions had plagued Xander everywhere he had went; they had followed him all day. They simply would not relent. They would pause occasionally, only to return once he let himself relax for a moment. He had no clue as to what was happening exactly, but he knew for sure that this thing was rapidly robbing him of any sanity he had left. 

Images and old feelings were returning on their own now, as if to compound his suffering. He remembered Willow that dreadful day, where his life had been changed forever, and all the events that had led up to that moment.

"So… when are you two going to have the wedding? Because if you have the wedding in spring that would be so romantic, but its not like I want you to wait, because I'm like super happy for you, so if you want to do it sooner that's cool too, but then again, spring has all these positive energies and…" asked Willow, a little too cheerily, trying to overcompensate for the mixed feelings she had about her childhood crush getting married to Anya. She felt happy for him, and had acquired a moderate liking to the ex-demon lately, not to mention the total devotion she felt for Tara, but it was still a giant chunk of emotionally charged news. It seemed to put a lot of definitive answers on a lot of "maybes" and "ifs", and finality was never something easily swallowed, especially where the heart was involved.

"Next month," interrupted Anya excitedly. She and Xander stood hand in hand before the whole group, having summoned them at the Magic Box to announce the good news. "And no need to fear, it is going to be perfectly traditional. And by that I mean Xander is going to purchase many expensive things that we don't really need, but nonetheless are testament of our love."

"Euh… how many expensive things are we talking about here, and when did I take a leave of my sanity to agree to this? I mean can't our love be enough; must you cheapen it with false idols of modern society? Didn't you learn anything from watching "Fight Club" last night?" asked Xander hopeful this scheme somehow would work.

"I learned that poor people are really angry and fight a lot. Also that being a slave to corporate logos and other economically engineered tradition is essential to being a good law-abiding citizen of the good old U.S. of A." 

"Anya, that was so totally not the idea of the movie…"

"See," she said cheerily, turning back toward the dumbfounded group. "This the part where Xander complains because it's all so expensive, just like in all those movies I've seen. Soon, we should start bickering because Xander, since he's the male, has nothing to say and must abide to any purchase I, the bride, request. He's going to make a futile attempt at gaining some control of the situation, not realizing that in the process he's only further aggravating me into buying more expensive things, and then comes the part where I yell "You care more about money than me!" and then the wedding jitters and so on and so on. I love this getting married stuff!"

"Well this is all lovely children," said Spike as he pushed himself off the table, taking a big whiff of his cigarette, "but I don't see why any of this bloody thing required me to come all the way down here, when I could be all cozy at home, watching some old tapes of passion over a pint of blood. Instead I get to watch a re-run of "The overbearing and the whipped" over here."

"Oh! Whipping!" exclaimed Anya, "that's a thing I read somewhere you might enjoy, Xander. Thank you for reminding me, Spike."

"Again and always with the disturbing visual image, Anya," said Buffy in a disgusted tone.

"Anyways," continued Xander uncomfortably, "You had to be here, Spike, because there's a reason, it's not one of those "must or the world will be sucked into hell" reasons but, you know. Please don't think I'm trying to avoid the issue… even though it's blatantly evident I am."

"Well, c'mon, spill mate, I haven't got all night, here."

"What Xander is trying to say," continued Anya, "is that in view of your recent acceptance as a productive member of this group, and Xander's small, but growing feeling of friendship…"

"Whoa, I believe I said understanding, not friendship-- understanding," corrected Xander to no avail. 

"… of male bonding between you two, in a nonsexual way of course, thought that could be arranged…"

"Honey! Drifting…"

"Oh, yes! Well with that and the obvious fact you are the only male person available, we thought of you as a suitable choice for the best man position. Which includes trying to dissuade him from going through with this and throwing him a very sexually oriented bachelor party, which is alright, because I am both confident and totally not jealous."

"Me?" asked Spike incredulously, a look on his face that was shared from all within the room. "What's wrong Monkey Boy, don't you have any bleedin' friends at work? Where's the hate?"

"Oh! Oh! It's still there, I swear, see!" said Xander as if he were nervously apologizing, his hands signaling repeatedly between them. "See there's the hate, there's plenty of hate and disgust, I swear, it's all good."

"You sure? 'Cause I wouldn't want you to fake it. I mean you owe it to me to at least say it to my face."

"Oh… no, no, no. I still hate you, believe me, I will always hate you… Evil Dead."

"Thanks that…means a lot to me, 'cause… I… wouldn't want it any other way. 'Cause… I hate you too and all. Want to dig my fangs and drink you dry, bloody right," responded Spike uncomfortably.

"So we agree, hate it is."

"Agreed, but are you sure? Me? I'm not your garden variety best man, I mean what about all the times I tried to kill you?"

"I figured since you and me pretty much saved the world by throwing Doc off that platform, I figure I'll let bygones be bygones. Anybody who helps me save my favorite Dawnster's life, is okay in my book… but still… hate."

"I don't know, mate?"

"Oh!" intervened Anya, "Xander also said it might be a good idea because it would piss off somebody called "Deadboy". I don't know who that person is but it sounded like something fun to do." Xander suddenly felt uneasy as he caught a glimpse of Buffy's evil glare on him. Spike's face on the other hand lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I'll do it! You got yourself a best man, Monkey Boy."

"Good," said Giles in a vexed tone, sipping from his tea. "Since Spike is the only suitable male present, I suppose it's a… wise choice."

"Oh Giles…" said Xander even more apologetic, "no… I mean, of course I thought of you, but you were kind of needed in a more vital function."

"Vital function?"

"Yes," responded Anya, "My father is long dead, and a pile of rotting bones by now, and though the thought of resurrecting him for the occasion did cross my mind, it would be all gooie and unpleasant with the hellos and the what have you been up to for the last thousands years. So, it would be more efficient if I took a cheap substitute like you to walk me down the aisle…" Anya paused looking at her feet for a moment and then added with an unusual amount of emotions, "… plus you being my boss and all… you're really more of a father to me than he ever was."

"Of course, I'll be delighted," answered Giles, the two of them exchanging a brief smile.

"Thank you. Your job will be to act really protectively of me and make disparaging remarks regarding my choice of life mate. And don't worry, we have non-paying jobs to burden the rest of you with as well," quickly continued Anya. "Dawn can be that little cute girl that holds the pillow with the rings."

"Great," said Dawn sarcastically, not at all thrilled at the idea of Xander marrying Anya.

"Buffy, I hesitated between you and Willow, but since Willow as had a previous romantic entanglement with Xander I think it would be inconsiderate of me to ask her, so what do you say about being my Head bridesmaid. I hear it's really easy to get a man at a wedding if you're a bridesmaid, if that's a incentive."

"I think it's the other way around actually," responded Buffy, "but I'll be glad to do it, Anya."

"And Willow and Tara, you can be just regular bridesmaid, not that you would want to get men, since you're gay."

"Thank you, I… we'd be glad to do it, right Willow?"

"Sure," said Willow a bit dryly, but quickly adding a smile to try to sound less devastated than she was. 

"Buffy, we're going to have to talk afterwards because I'm leaving tomorrow for this ex-demon conference thing in London, and I'd like you to get started on some stuff."

Xander didn't know what time it was exactly, his mind was in a daze of confusion. He felt like in the middle of a night ambush, taking fire from every side. It felt exactly like that, save for the adrenaline rush. Instead, Xander felt a sort of jadedness that left him looking very much like a zombie himself, his skin pale and clammy as he stared emptily through the living room window, the sun shining down gently into the room. It felt like late afternoon, but he really didn't have any precise idea as he slid the clip into the S&W pistol.

"What are you doing?" asked Tara worriedly as she stared at Willow, whom was drawing symbols on the floor of their apartment, and seemed to be a bit embarrassed by being discovered. Tara had came home an hour early from work at the University's library and apparently had surprised Willow in the middle of something covert.

"Oh! I thought you weren't suppose to come home for…"

"Willow, why are you casting a spell without me?" asked Tara, sounding slightly hurt by the discovery. She scanned the floor that was cluttered with various artifacts and ingredients surrounding the elaborate inscriptions.

"I… I'm… not." 

"Please, don't lie to me. You know I want to believe you, baby, but there's the dead body right there and you're holding the bloody kitchen knife." Tara knelt down by her lover's side, whose shoulders slumped as she sighed, managing a weak smile.

"Okay, but promise not to be angry. I was summoning a higher plane spirit, and I knew you'd be mad and totally like "No, Wills, that's too dangerous, and.."." 

"No! Wills, what are you doing? You can't conjure that kind of spirit, that's way too dangerous, you'll never be able to control it, who knows what it…"

"See! Honey, you're getting angry, just like I said. I don't want a repeat of what happened with Glory and the brainsucking, and you know," said Willow pouting and giving Tara the best puppy eyes she had in store. Tara sighed, and resigned herself, looking over the dusty tome open near Willow's knees. It was one of Giles forbidden books that he kept under lock in the Magic Box.

"Okay, but a higher plane spirit?"

"I can handle it, you said it yourself, I'm getting much more powerful."

"But why does it have to be a higher plane spirit? Did something horrible and world threatening happen while I was working? Is Buffy in big need of some major Wicca help?"

"No, actually it's… it's for Xander."

"He's not in danger is he?"

"No, it's for his wedding present. You're all getting them such nice gifts and I was looking for a way to really steal the show, when I thought of the one thing that would totally make Xander super happy, and I'm fairly certain Anya would like it too."

"What?"

"A power. Think about it, all this time, he's the only one of us who doesn't have any powers."

"But he helps in different ways…"

"Yeah, I know, but I think he always wanted one, plus I'm sure Anya wouldn't mind if he had something to help protect himself, and her of course. So I'm going to bind a higher plane spirit and force him to grant Xander a power." 

"What kind of power?"

"Well, I was thinking invincibility since he always gets tossed around, but that is so totally out of my league. Then, I thought of super slayer like strength, and all those reflexes and stuff, but again, a bit too hard. And then it hit me, since Spike is buying Xander a pistol for his wedding gift, I figure I would give him perfect eye and hand coordination, you know, so he doesn't shoot one of us by mistake. I know he's been getting less clumsy lately, but like that, all remaining clumsiness would go poof!"

"Well, that's a good idea and I do have confidence in you, but it seems a bit much. Don't resolve face me though. Can I help?"

"Of course, and thank you, honey. I promise next time I'll be more trusting."

Tara knelt besides Willow and helped her finish marking the floor and positioning the ingredients. They then both knelt, holding hands, inside a circle of salt, and started to recite the incantation in the tome. Tara could feel the incredible surge of power vibrating from Willow, she had indeed became much more powerful recently. Suddenly, a strong wind rose from nowhere, brushing away everything in its path. It seemed to be circling around them, forming a whirlwind spinning the entire room around. She stared worriedly at Willow who continued to repeat the incantation solemnly, her eyes pitch-black. 

"Willow! I think something's wrong," said Tara as she withdrew her hand from her. She had a growing discomfort and it was only aggravated when an ethereal cloud of darkness seemed to form in front of them. Tara felt nauseated, she wanted to scream for Willow to stop but the words came out only as whisper. "Willow! Stop, something's wrong."

Willow didn't stop, she continued louder and louder, as if she never heard Tara in the first place. Fear and terror grew inside the later, as she watched the protective circle of salt slowing being striped and destroyed as the wind blew it away, grain-by-grain.

"Willow!" she yelled one last time as the circle was finally broken and a bolt of energy propelled her to the other end of the room. Tara somehow managed not to loose consciousness, but watched helplessly as the cloud of darkness enveloped her lover, who kept repeating the same words with more and more intensity. All of a sudden, a shrill shriek escaped Willow's mouth as she started convulsing in pain. She fell to the ground seemingly lifeless as the cloud dissipated, the room quieted down. Tara quickly rushed over her lover's side, fearing the worst.

"Willow?" she shook her, tears sliding down her face. Her fear subsided a moment when a response came. 

"I'm fine, don't worry, honey." She pulled Willow into a tight embrace, sighing in relief. However the fear returned when she pulled back and noticed her lover's pupils were still pitch-black, a wicked grin on her lips. Tara dropped her and she started laughing manically as Tara backed away toward the exit.

"You… yo… you're not, Willow!" she stuttered through the tears, her hand turning the knob to the door. 

"Sure I am, now how 'bout you come here and give me a kiss, I'll prove it," said Willow, seizing the ritual dagger on the floor and getting up to her feet. She started laughing again as she watched a terrorized Tara, swing the door open and take off running through the corridor.

Xander took a long swig from a half-empty Bourbon bottle, coming close to finishing it off. He threw it back still open on the couch, where it started rolling and spilling its content all over the carpet. Xander in his terribly drunken haze couldn't remember why in hell he hadn't tried this before, why he hadn't done this right and good some five years ago. After a moment, he discarded the question, not caring to know the answer and pressed the gun firmly under his chin, cocking it.

"I suppose I should say something," said Xander to himself, and then he chuckled. "But for once I really can't think of anything." 

His finger slung around the trigger, it needed a little nudge, a little pull, and it would all be over. Xander stopped for a moment to contemplate the situation, he really wished his other arm hadn't been sealed in that plaster cast, so then he could have at least stood at attention and salute, die like a soldier, but he figured in a moment it wouldn't make much difference to him anyways.

"Xander, don't do this," said Buffy, appearing out of nowhere. She smiled at him gently, standing in front of him as radiant as she had ever looked. Xander stared in awe for a moment, and then shook his head.

"You're not real, you're an illusion. Buffy's dead," he said, his speech heavily slurred.

"No, Xander. I'm real and I'm here to help you. Can't you see someone is doing this to you?" As she spoke, he felt the medallion grow warm against his chest. He looked down upon it and, after shaking his head a few more times, came somehow to draw a conclusion though the veil of alcohol that rested on his mind.

"You're not Buffy," he spat angrily, "you're not Buffy! Go away you son of a bitch! Leave my mind alone!"

"I can help you, if you only take my hand, Xander. Take my hand, please…" said Buffy offering it to Xander. She seemed desperate and afraid and Xander was genuinely tempted to seize it when the whole world was suck away from around Xander and he suddenly found himself in a Bolivian swamp dressed in black with the thick suffocating sensation of camo on his skin. The night was torn by the flash of mp5's being fired all around at gruesome opponents surging from the trees and from the mud where they had laid in waiting. Xander forgot all about the last four years and suddenly, with dying the scream of his men ringing in his ears, was back in command, reliving that day as if it were real.

"Sir!" yelled out Corporal Bateman, the radio operator, as he fired at an incoming enemy. "They just cut us off in the middle!" Xander turned to see his platoon separated in two factions, being attack by all side. Divide and conquer, these things had done their homework on setting up ambushes. 

"Light's on!" yelled Xander as arcs of light appeared all around from the mounted flashlights revealing the horror that was taken place. They were large dog-like creatures with bulky shoulders and terrible mouths, hungry and unforgiving. They had thick gray skin like lizard and opaque eyes that told only of their merciless desire to bury their knife like teeth into human flesh. "Go loud! Fire at will! Stay together, I want to see tight group people. Waste those motherfuckers! Cohen, Francoeur, Simons, Harrison take the left, Jobson, Weber, Smith, Jones take the right, Fritz, Nakamura, Fuentes, Colin, the front. I want everybody else on the back, punch a whole so we can regroup, controlled burst only, don't shoot our own people. Bateman come here, I need to call Faith for reinforcement."

Suddenly, warm blood splattered all over his face as one creature bit Bateman in the leg and started dragging him screaming into the darkness. Xander instantly fired, killing the creature, but another took its place, and Xander was gradually forced to watch Bateman clawing the ground desperately as he was dragged back by one creatures after the other, until Xander had to change magazine, and then Bateman disappeared forever, a disturbing yell coming from the darkness, as he was most likely being eaten alive. The humidity in the air, the feeling of his skin, sticky with sweat and blood. His eyes scanning the swamp while he tried desperately to retake control of the situation. His heart rate was higher than it ever had been.

"Heart!" yelled Xander over his personal short distance radio, trying to cover his ears. He was in the middle of a circle, his men protecting him as he tried to get in touch with his 2ic whom had been bringing up the rear. "Situation?"

"Not good, sir. Almost everybody on my side is down with the exception of Lambert, Knight, McClean and Pino. These bastards are smart, sir. They took out my radioman right away," said RSM Heart in the most composed of tones.

"Mine too, this isn't a random ambush, they knew we were coming. Now, listen to me, the order is retreat, you hear me, you get a shot at running, take you're men out of there and we see each other again at the RV point."

"Understood."

"Sir!" yelled out Cohen as a dozen of creatures charged their position, from the left tearing through every soldier there as if they were made of paper. Xander fired wildly until he was suddenly toppled over by one of the creatures, his machine gun flying away into the mud somewhere. Thankfully, Nakamura managed to kill Xander's attacker just before another creature bit his own head off. Xander pulled himself out of the mud, faced by the dying screams of all his men and the click of empty weapons. He quickly drew his sidearm, a desert eagle that he fired repeatedly at various targets, throwing an occasional grenade, timing it so it would explode before it hit the water. He was somehow managing to make the creatures retreat, not noticing fire supporting him from far and away to his left.

"C'mon! C'mon! You sacks of shit! Come and get it! I'm right here!" Suddenly and once again, he was thrown against a tree, one of the creatures on top of him, Xander holding its jaw open, inches away from his face. He grunted and the creature roared in response, trying again and again to bite him. Slowly and with great struggle, Xander slid the gun so the muzzle was pressed against the thing's eye.

"Good doggie, now play dead." 

"Xander!" yelled Sanaz as she slapped him, trying to pry him off Katrina whom he held pinned to the floor, his pistol pressed against her eye. Gabe had both his arms wrapped around Xander's body, trying to use all his weight to lift him off. Garrett struggled to bring the gun away from Katrina's face and by accident, he had slipped his little finger under the hammer, which crashed down as Xander pulled the trigger. Garrett yelled, his finger broken, but the firearm never discharged.

"Xander, please stop," whispered Katrina, trembling, tears forming in her eyes. Finally, the group managed to pull Xander to his feet, and he quickly replied by head butting Garrett, sending him crashing against the couch. Gabe was trying to give Xander the full nelson, which he countered by smashing his friend repeatedly into the closest wall.

"Get off me demon!" yelled Xander, spinning and sending Sanaz crashing into the couch as well. Gabe, for himself, was bruised but still holding on tight. Xander pedaled backwards again, crashing violently into another wall, portraits falling off as Gabe's grip finally loosen. Xander was now free to wield the pistol again, but was never given a chance as Marcus blindsided him with a baseball bat. Xander's body hit the ground, consciousness having long left it. Everyone else's breath was erratic and slowly calming down. Marcus looked around the room that was now a total mess, riddled with bullet holes everywhere.


	3. Scar Tissue

Between Shadows

"Willow?" he spoke softly though the darkened hallway of her apartment building. The lights everywhere had been broken save for one of the neon whose socket dangled with the cold wind rushing from the open window down the hall. Xander slowly stalked toward Willow's door, glass cracking under his feet. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and Xander raised the tire iron in his right hand, preparing himself for the worst. Darkness greeted him and the light switch he flicked repeatedly seemed to indicate the lights had been knocked out as well. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, cursing himself silently for not bringing a flashlight. He immediately turned left and pressed his back against the wall, unwilling to make it easy for whatever it was that had possessed Willow to sneak behind him. 

Just forty minutes ago, Tara had burst into the _Magic Box _stuttering and panicked. Giles and Xander had managed to calm her downlong enough to get what had happened to Willow out of her. Unfortunately, Buffy was out on patrol with Spike, and Xander, against Giles better judgment, had decided to rush over to Willow's place armed with what he could find in his car, which also included a pair of handcuffs he kept in his glove compartment for Anya's occasional spontaneous car sex. The idea was simple, knock Willow over that big brain of hers, tie her up and bring her back to the _Magic Box_, while Giles got cracking on finding what exactly could have happened, and Tara went to look for Spike and Buffy.

A brief spark of lightning lit the empty room for a stroboscopic second, revealing a blue-gray flash of scattered furniture turned over and the intricate patterns of chalk on the floor. Xander sensed himself tensing up as the thunder rolled in, he scanned the room furtively, feeling he was that dumb character in all those horror movies who just has to go check out that sound in the basement. 

"Hey, nobody ever accused me of being smart," said Xander to himself, trying to muster up some courage as he listened to the heavy rain beating against the windowpane and the buzzing neon clacking against the wall of the hallway. Suddenly, a distant scream sent Xander jumping up in the air, someone's dying moans. 

He moved through the hallway with less care this time, hoping that the scream didn't indeed belong to Willow. What he found on the way were the open doors of every apartment, behind which always lied a carnage of indescribable gruesomeness: hollow grannies were nailed to walls, their inside pulled out through their stomach, pairs of children nailed sitting before the television set, the boy's head on the girl's body and vice versa, parents eviscerated and dismembered, and dogs roasting in the ovens. Xander hurled, unable to keep the overwhelming terror and disgust in check. Somewhere along the always more creatively disposed bodies, he noticed the signature etched on all the victims, a strange checkered square he made sure to take note of for Giles.

He finally made it to the end of the narrow hallway, pushing the last oak door open. His heart felt as if it was going to explode or at least pop out of his chest. "_Breath Xander, breath_" he kept repeating to himself, trying not to forget as he choked up on fear.The door swung slowly, as if a transition on a movie screen, a curtain sliding slowly to the left, revealing a form he instantly recognized as Willow kneeling in the middle of the room, her back to him. A checkered square of light projected from some window outside of Xander's vision surrounded her and revealed with great details the body of a young girl at her feet, a bloody knife in Willow's right hand, the girl's head in the other. Thunder and lighting, Xander swallowing hard as he took a silent step into the room, his sweaty hand sliding on the raised tire iron.

"Hello, Xander," suddenly said Willow without turning around. He stopped short, the sound of his heart beating in his chest was deafening.

"Hey, Wills," he said weakly after a moment, he barely managed to speak. "Watcha doin' there budster." He tried to sound his average warm self, failing miserably as he took another tentative step forward. Lighting again, illuminating the girl's features, her dead eyes staring straight at Xander.

"I was hungry, and you know how I like my meat fresh," she said wickedly as she turned around smiling, her face, blue-gray from the light of the windows, smeared with fresh blood, gore dripping from her mouth, and her eyes dark orbs of nothingness. Xander was taken aback, his instinct screaming for him to flee while his stomach demanded to have it's content evacuated once more. He closed his eyes as she chuckled, rising to her feet. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, his courage returning a little with the concern he felt for his friend.

"Wills," he said decisively, "You're not well and… you're coming with me to see Giles. Now put down the knife before somebody gets hurt… most probably me."

Willow said nothing advancing simply toward him in an almost unthreatening manner with a grin on her face. Suddenly she dropped the girl's head, which promptly rolled away into the darkness and with a snap of her fingers, the tire iron slipped from Xander's grip and flew into hers, after which she quickly discarded it. He started to back away panicked, his hands raised in front of him defensively, when the door slammed behind him, blocking his exit. Soon his back was to it and the terror overcame him. He slumped to the ground in an almost fetal position as Willow bent over him. She put the knife at his quivering throat holding it there for effect as he backed his head against the door, swallowing hard. She looked at him sitting there, examining him close as if sniffing for something.

"Well, aren't you going to give me the 'Wills, I know you're still in there somewhere'?"

"Actually… I was just about to. So?" he waited for a second then swallowed hard and looked away. "Didn't think so."

"Oh don't worry Xander, you're precious Willow is still here. She sees and hears everything, feels every moment of this. I can hear her screaming for me to stop right now. I don't know what I'm enjoying better, these people's pain as I'm torturing them or hers as she's forced to experience it."

"You're sick, even for a demon, you're sick."

"How about you Xander?" she asked deviously as she forced a kiss on his lips. He tried to turn his face away, but she quickly restrained him, and though he didn't return it he felt her tongue forcing it's way inside, spreading the taste of the little girl's blood. "How sick are you?" 

"Screw you!" Xander responded after he spat out as much of the blood as he could. Her smile disappeared, as she stood tall once more. She chuckled sounding disgusted.

"Willow is right Xander, you really are pathetic. That child over there put up more of a fight than you. You really are useless Xander, the weak link of your little Scooby gang. I'd kill you but I'd be doing you and your friends a favor. You're not a threat to me, you're the Zeppo, isn't that how your precious Cordy put it?" Willow waved her hand and with that simple gesture he slid rapidly all along the wall crashing through a mirrored closet. The door opened and Xander watched helplessly as she disappeared into the hallway.

Burn.

Xander Harris remembered that word so well. He remembered the first time Asmodeus had spoken it, a one-word explanation to a question he hadn't asked at the time. "You're going to burn Mr. Harris, you are going to sufferer." The Archdemon standing in front of him as he swung back and forth through the air, shackles dug deep into his wrists.

Burning is a concept that Xander had come to have a very personal understanding of. In fact, one might have called this higher understanding, enlightenment. He understood the pain and what it meant, he understood every charged up molecule of it, every square inch of charred flesh, and the smell of one's own melted skin. He remembered the first day swinging over that pit of flames in that small hellish cell; he remembered the branding and Asmodeus telling him the rules of the game. "You won't age, you won't die, you'll only suffer. This room is warded and while in it, these men can piece you apart and back together and you'll be conscious and aware of every agonizing moment of it. You are my toy, Mr. Harris."

He relived the shame and the fear, just as if it was real. He wanted to say something, to spit on that macabre and byzantine face before him, to show some bravado and tell the Archdemon to go fuck himself. Instead he trembled, his eyes tearing up. Asmodeus terrified him, enough so as to crush the vile hatred he felt. He couldn't believe she was dead, he still expected her to burst into the room and rescue him. Any minute now, any minute…

Buffy never came and the fiery whip started licking his skin. "Let's count back from a thousand shall we?" said the Whipman. Asmodeus walked away proudly, Xander biting down and through his lips so he wouldn't scream and beg for them to stop.

Pain. "1000…"

Pain. "999…"

Pain. "998…"

"Xander…" said a voice softly in the darkness. He opened his eyes slowly, Katrina's blurry form slowly coming into focus. She smiled sweetly at him, replacing a freshly wet towel on his forehead. He had the headache of a lifetime and his jaw opened painfully as he tried to speak. He scanned his surrounding for a moment; he was now in his bedroom, the covers of his comfortable bed wrapped tightly against his naked body, save for the boxer of course. 

"Are you alright?" asked Katrina, sitting on the bed next to him.

"I've seen better days…" he answered, smiling. She smiled back weakly, her eyes carefully avoiding his.

"Willow?" she asked simply, her eyes finally meeting his. He instantly sighed. 

"I wasn't screaming things while I was under, was I?" he asked jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. She nodded and he conceded. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm really scared of tress and have nightmares about them? No? Okay… Willow is this cute red head brainiac I grew up with."

"Another girlfriend, Xander?" asked Katrina teasingly with a small grin, "Should I be worried?" Xander instantly chuckled.

"Nah, just my bestest bud since like forever. I mean we did have this little fling at one point, some smoocharoos mostly, but then her boyfriend and my girlfriend got into the way of our relationship, you know, by finding out about it and such."

"Huh!" exclaimed Katrina in mocked outrage, placing both her hands on her hips. "So Mr. Harris, the truth comes out: you're a cheating dog, just like the other 90% of the male population… and I was starting to think you were above us mere mortals."

"Well, what can I say? Every superhero has their Kriptonite. I think the Xandernator's weak point lies in which part of his anatomy does the thinking for him, as witnessed by the broken arm and the knife in my back, curtsey of my psychotic ex-playmate."

"Ah, you get what you deserve when you play with matches. So… what happened, did your girlfriend forgive you?"

"Of course… after years of bitter estrangement, but on the upside, Willow got the full pardon from her boyfriend," answered Xander then adding in a exaggeratedly arrogant voice, "Of course, they didn't last long and she became a lesbian, but can you blame her? When you ride the Xander train it's hard to get off… wait that could be misinterpreted." 

"Ride the Xander train, huh?" asked Katrina smiling shyly, "Guess I'll have to take your word for it… for now, anyways…" After the last side comment, she couldn't meet his gaze, and neither could have Xander met hers. He wasn't as blind as he had bee as a teenager, and was fully aware of her infatuation with him, though he had hoped it would die away as they learned more and more about just how much of a monster he really was. He had no excuses for the way he had acted in the past, for the wrongs he had committed; no demon had taken over his body like with Angelus. No, he had been a willing participant to his own damnation, and words such as "necessary evil" and "attenuating circumstances" brought little satisfaction to what little was left of a tortured conscience. 

He understood Deadboy better now, though hated him all the more for it. How easy and comforting it must be to have a demon to blame your sins on, to relieve you of some culpability of your past acts and your darkest desires. And like always, he envied Angel all the more, perfect Angel, with the good looks and Buffy's heart, Angel who didn't lift a finger when Buffy went to meet her doom at the Master's hands, Angel who didn't save the day, but still got the girl. Envy was a terrible thing indeed, and the memory of it surged back into Xander. He envied that vampires didn't need to look at themselves in the mirror, that was always the toughest part of every day. And right now, more than anything else, he envied Angel's curse; it was such an easy way out, to have an excuse not to fall in love. He could use that right about now, he could have used that two years ago.

After a long awkward silence, during which none of the two managed to rally the strength to look at the other, Katrina finally broke the silence. "So… what happened to her? You lost touch when you went to the army?"

"I wasn't aware my military background was common knowledge," said Xander, growing grim, as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Garrett mentioned something… see we had this discussion about you, while you were under… but you haven't answered my question."

"No, I haven't," he said dryly and then after a moment, started again more sullen, "I… she's dead, let's leave it at that shall we? Where is Garrett and everybody anyways?"

"Sanaz took Garrett to the hospital; you broke his nose and his little finger, though I think he's more pissed with what you did to the house. Marcus and Gabe are cleaning up said mess. You know, the mess you did when you started acting crazy and started shooting up the place, and yelling stuff, half of which we couldn't understand, and then tried to put a bullet in my eye…"

"Oh! You notice that," said Xander sarcastically, and she smiled him an answer. "I'm not sure but I think something might be wrong with me? What do you think?"

"Just tell me you're not going insane," she pleaded seriously.

"I don't know about that, Katrina… but I don't think this is natural. I mean, this is too fast and accelerated; it all feels too precise. Someone's putting the whammy on my mind, and I mean that in the magical sense of the word."

"Any idea who?"

"How about that Asmodeus guy?" asked Gabe as he entered the room followed by Marcus, "You kept screaming that name when you were having you're little epileptic fit…"

"Epileptic fit?"

"Yeah," chimed in Katrina, "You were arching you're back and yelling in pain at the same time… like you were being whipped." She said the latter part more softly, indicating to Xander she was piecing some of the puzzle together slowly. 

Xander sighed resigning. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, and resigned himself to answer, but did so by choosing his words very carefully, "I… don't think it's this particular… individual." 

"Why's that?" asked Marcus, "I mean it didn't sound to us like you were buddies or anything. You know, by the way you kept yelling insults and threat in the proximity of his name. Especially the part where you were yelling 'Asmodeus, you're the one doing this to me! Quit messing with my mind, you bastard.' We kinda took that as a tip off."

"Just trust me, alright. I thought about it, and it can't be him."

"Dog, don't go all noble on us, now. I think I'm starting to figure you out and frankly we don't need you to hold our hands and keep us in the dark all the time. Something's messing with your mind? We got your back, that's all I'm saying."

Xander chuckled at Marcus' enthusiasm, shaking his head. The thought of Marcus and the rest of the gang facing off with the Archdemon was about as ridiculous as pitting a blind puppy against a hungry bear. For a moment he tried real hard to come up with the best way to impart that concept upon his friends. "Asmodeus is way out of your league guys and anyway…"

"How can you say that?" interrupted Gabe, angered by the comment. "I know we're not ex-special forces or professional demon hunters, but we're not incompetent. We can take care of ourselves and for once we can take care of you." The speech put a large pensive smile on Xander's face that immediately intrigued Gabe. "What?"

"You sound just like me—five years ago. Anyways, I don't just mean that Asmodeus is out of _your_ class, is out of mine, is out of Faith's. He could kick both our asses without breaking a sweat, and trust me on that, if there was any way of taking him down, I would have done it a long time ago."

"Sounds like he gave you a real tussle," said Marcus, taking notice that Xander suddenly tensed up, his eyes lowering in something that looked strangely like shame. He seemed to have been chocked up by the question, sliding himself to a sitting position on the bed in a poor attempt to buy some time. The covers dropped, exposing the markings on his chest.

"He… he killed my… hero. The toughest, most stubborn and dangerous fighter I've ever known… and killed her under a minute… laughing like it was all a big joke, a little exercise before breakfast. He…" Xander hesitated to reveal anymore, but somehow he felt he owed them that much for putting their lives in danger. He wanted them to understand he wouldn't treat them like the old Scooby gang used to threat him, he didn't want to make them feel useless, "… killed someone who meant the world to me… took something that…" he stopped a moment, swallowing back the tears, and never finishing the thought, "… and then he tortured me for a very, very, very long time."

Xander's pointed at the markings on his chest with an open hand, "See this boys and girls? Let me give you your first lesson in Noble Speak, this says 'Royal prisoner 24631, property of his majesty Lord Asmodeus. I have to wear this the rest of my life. Every time I look in a mirror, it's right there, reminding me that I'll never have my vengeance, that he'll still be around long after I die, carrying the joy of killing my friend and of torturing me. So trust me, if there was a way… but there isn't, he just can't be killed…anyway it doesn't matter, it's not him."

The group grew quiet, an uneasy feeling coming over them. They were finally learning a bit more about their friends past, and it seem filled with horrors they could not even begin to relate to. No wonder he befriended the bottle, no wonder he was so dark and prone to violence. Xander slipped out of his bed and quickly reached into one of his drawing and aptly loaded a clip into a 9mm semi-automatic pistol.

"What are you doing?" asked Katrina panicked.

"I'm arming myself, and then I'm getting on my bike and going after whatever it is that's after me."

"Wait you can't ride a motorcycle with just one arm and what…"

"Sure I can. I was special force. You'd be surprised what I can do with just my left thumb."

"But what if…"

"Look, whatever it is that's pulling this magic trick, they know I'm here. And that makes me a more available target than I want to be, not to mention a threat to all of you. Whatever kind of whammy they're pulling on me, it's too powerful and demanding for it to work long range, that much I know. I keep moving, that means they have to keep moving, and they shouldn't be able to concentrate enough to give some more of those visions."

"But that's only a temporary solution."

"Not if I use this opportunity to bait them out. I can spot tail fairly easily, and then…" He cocked the pistol for effect, "I'm gonna seriously interfere with _their_ mental process."

Riding down the urban highways, turning down an exit and heading down for central park, Xander wondered why a cop hadn't noticed him yet. His arm was visibly in a cast, he wasn't exactly respecting speed limits and as far as he'd ever been concerned, helmets took the fun out of riding a bike. Cosmic balance, he guessed; everyone has an equal amount of good luck and bad luck and since he'd been suffering so much lately, he figured the big wheel of fortune was letting him cash in a few of his credits. Xander couldn't say he was happy about that, he could have used a real chase. The adrenaline rush of the speed and the danger, coupled with the satisfaction of eluding an enemy he could see, would probably have been enough to relieve his tension.

Slowing down to 120 km/h, Xander started zigzagging his way between cars, burning red lights as he made his way toward Central Park. He felt unclean, having shared so much of his past with his friends. When you thought about it, he had only revealed a small part of his long history, but for him that was immense. His chattering mind was only quieted in the slightest by the hypnotic effect of the 500cc of raw power that was pulsating between his legs. The need for speed was quenched but it wasn't close to being enough. He kept thinking about the past now, the floodgates to his memory wide open, the images flowing before his eyes.

He remembered the look on Giles face as he prepared to announce his findings. He had a grim look that made Xander tremble; Buffy, Dawn, Spike and Tara didn't seem to catch it right away, looking at him filled with hope and a somewhat not so enthusiastic professionalism. But Xander knew right away, he knew by the way Giles cleared his throat, and tried to put on a stoic face. 

"Well Giles," started Buffy, "Skip the description and the name, just tell us how we get it out of Willow?"

"Buffy, I believe in this case you might want the full briefing," said Giles, Buffy bracing herself for the news. "Its name is Zepar," Giles took a long pause, "It is a Soulburner demon." As he finished speaking, Xander noticed Spike's head slumping forward in desperation. The vampire muttered some curse under his breath, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment. He knew what it was and apparently, it wasn't looking good.

"Okay, now that we got that out of the way, how do I kill it Giles?" asked Buffy, trying not to pay attention to the mood that was developing inside the _Magic Box_ . 

"Giles?" repeated Buffy when the watcher seemed suddenly tongue-tied, unable to meet anybody's eyes.

"You don't, pet," finally interrupted Spike sullenly.

"Nobody asked you, Mr.Negativety," said Buffy with anger in her voice.

"I'm afraid Spike is correct, Buffy," had Giles finally managed, "Soulburners are incredibly blood thirsty demons, they thrive only on torture and suffering. Zepar is an extremely famous and powerful one. His kind… is trapped in this ethereal plane from which they can never escape, but from which they have considerable protection from everything else… What I'm trying to say is that Zepar isn't really inhabiting Willow's body so much as his projecting his essence onto her…"

"Like a puppet pulling string," added Spike.

"Shut up, Spike!" yelled Buffy, filled with misplaced anger. Xander was frozen, unable to warp his mind around what he was hearing.

"Willow has become his avatar," continued Giles, "and he is going to keep on killing through her until she is stopped." There was an eerie finality in Giles words, as if he was passing out a death sentence.

"No," said Tara softly. Dawn quickly pulled her into a hug.

"Giles, I don't like the way this is starting to sound," said Buffy, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"C'mon G-man," said Xander finally, "Okay, so killing it is not an option. What do we need to do to kick it out, some kind of spell?"

"I'm afraid it's too powerful…"

"Alright," Xander said, thinking for a moment then continuing, "maybe we can trick it to leave, like the genie and the bottle, or trade or something?"

"I met one of those blokes before, Xander," responded Spike, "They're bloody sharp and not one bit easy to fool. And this Zepar, he'll never leave Red, he's got the perfect host. All her bleedin' power at his disposal, why would he go. Not to mention she's the slayer's best friend, which makes his little avatar fairly safe from her."

"Don't you call Willow that!" shot Dawn from Tara's arms.

"She's gone, isn't she?" asked Xander, the whole room growing silent with his question. Buffy shook her head.

"No, I refuse to accept that. We'll find a way. We defeated Adam, Glory, The Mayor, we're not going to loose Willow. We'll find a way with time, if we can't make a deal with it, we'll find something powerful enough to kick it out and make a deal with them. I don't care what it…"

"Buffy," interrupted Xander, "What about all the people she's going to kill in the meanwhile?"

Inside the interior pocket of his leather jacket, there was a silver flask with his initials embossed in large letters, surrounded by a black lacquered square. Underneath was an inscription, "May it give you the courage you need, mate." He couldn't remember exactly how and when he and Spike had started to get along, but what really puzzled him is that sometimes, he actually missed the platinum haired vampire, not often but sometime. He took a swig of the scotch he kept inside, wondering how long it would take before he ran into Old William again. With the rate his past was catching up with him these days, it probably wouldn't be too long.

Xander leant back against a tree, staring at his motorcycle a few feet away in front of him. Central Park was a surprisingly luscious place considering the pollution that surrounded it. No one seemed to have called the cops on him for riding into the park on his motorcycle, and he found himself thinking back to that night in Bolivia, where he lost his entire team, the night ambush that should have claimed his life by all rights. The gentle burn of the scotch graced his throat once more. 

A mist of blood spewed out through the back of the doglike creature's head, his eye retreating into nothingness as the bullet drilled its way through the creature's brain. Xander quickly pushed off its dead body from him and reloaded the Desert Eagle as he snapped to his feet as best he could; his movements were sluggish and almost clumsy because of the mud. 

However, before he could cock the oversized pistol, he found himself alone in the darkness being stared at by three angry sets of eyes, three angry beast grunting hungrily not ten feet from him. They waited there preparing to attack him, and he knew the second he'd cock that pistol they would be all over him, but he went for it anyways, taking on last stand.

They rushed him at incredible speed but two of them died almost before taking their first steps, two mp5 bursts coming from the left blew both their respective heads off, and the third was tackled mid-flight, inches from Xander's throat by Faith. The creature and her rolled around in the mud for a moment before Faith roared and snapped its neck, while Xander empty his clip at invisible targets in the darkness of the trees. 

"C'mon, boss," said Faith urgently as she turned toward him, her forehead was cut and blood was smeared on her face. "We got to high tail it out of here before they regroup, these things killed my entire platoon." Xander didn't respond right away, instead reloading his sidearm with the last clip he had.

"No," he finally said with a grim resolve. "I'm staying right here. You go ahead to the RV point, that's an order." 

"Don't be stupid, Xander," said Faith as she quickly approached, reloading the Mp5 she used only seconds ago to take out the two beat as she came running to his rescue.

"Dammit Faith, I gave you an order!"

"Well with all due respect, sir," said Faith before sucker punching him so hard Xander knees wobbled. She made good of the opportunity and swung her dazed superior officer onto her shoulders. "You're coming with me."


	4. Save a Prayer

Between Shadows

Drinking your sorrows away, contrary to the popular pop-culture dogma, was about as close to the answer as Xander could get, and somewhere along Faith coming back and watching a bunch of dead cheerleaders doing that routine in his political class, he had made up his mind to accept the financial responsibility attached to perpetual numbness. Sure, alcohol didn't bring happiness or resolution, but what really could? At least it watered down his problem enough that they seemed the distant misadventures of Roger, his kooky persona on Cordy's show. Who cared if Roger was slowly turning insane? Nobody. Xander cared less with every gulp he swallowed. 

He couldn't chase the memories away though, they kept flashing back before his eyes. Buffy, Willow, Jesse, Anya, Miss. Calender, Kendra, Joyce, and countless other names. It's funny how leaving someone behind, even though you probably will never see them again, is so much easier than to bury them, or watch them die in your arms. They all danced before his eyes, back from the dead, asking to be heard one more time.

The sword, protruding from Buffy's back.

Anya lifeless in his arms, no goodbyes. Deadboy full of sorrow and excuses..

Sending the medals in the mail, writing the vague letters of apology to the families.

Fingers turning into fists, over countless sufferings. Turning to fist over that nameless kid in the corner of the coffee shop who breaks up with his girlfriend because he's young and wants to see other people. You should be so lucky as to live long enough to fall out of love, thought Xander.

Asmodeus' unforgettable smile.

The warm blood splashing on his face, the browning 9mm, singing it's song.

Joyce lying lifeless in that casket.

The scream amidst gunfire, the bats flying away through the Bolivian night. 

"Anybody else made it?" asked Xander shyly as he sat down in the cold metal chair of Lt-Colonel Finn's office. He was still in his muddy fatigue, thick stains of blood, not his own, covered him from head to toes. Riley sadly nodded.

"Heart."

"Well that's a given," said Xande smiling as he stared off, his eyes watering slightly, "I mean, he's a though bastard, ain't he?"

"Yeah… he's gonna be out of action for a month or so, though, hurt his leg."

"Anybody else?"

"Sorry."

"What the fuck happened out there, Riley!" yelled Xander as he pounced to his feet. "These things knew we were coming, they knew!"

"I don't know anymore than you, buddy. The intelligence we received was coded as being extremely accurate. There was no mention of these things."

"We were set-up, that's the only explanation," said Xander, suddenly noticing Riley flinching. "Shit! You know, don't you, you know who set us up!" 

"Xander, now don't jump to…"

"Who was it, Riley! Tell me who the fuck is responsible for my men deaths!" yelled Xander as he slammed both hands on the desk, Riley rising to meet him eye to eye.

"Captain, your forgetting your place!"

"Fuck that bullshit Riley! I quit! You knew I was quitting the minute I stepped into your office. Who set us up!"

"I can't tell you that, Xander."

"Why not?"

"Because I know what you're going to do," said Riley sighing as he sat back down.

"Those were our men out there, Riley. My troops, Faith's troops. I was supposed to lead and protect them, keep them alive, and I didn't even have the decency to die with them. Now, you're gonna tell me who did it, or our friendship is over." Riley bought himself a moment before he answered, and then finally ceded.

"You already know who did it, Xander. You don't need me to point out the obvious. Who needed to shut you up for good? Who had the access and clearance to send us a tempered intelligence report. Even better, guess who that report was from?"

One name instantly came to mind, a hateful name he had instinctively suspected but had said nothing until now. Xander fell back, anger growing on his features as the letters escaped his mouth. 

"NSA"

And Xander drank. He drank until the children playing in the park were musing pixies and funny anecdotes; he drank until those too were gone, replaced instead by the desertion of a darkening sky. He drank until she walked up to him, dressed in a purple domino and a mask of gore. He lifted his head in a nonchalant manner, barely responding to her presence. He met Willow's dead eyes with only a hint of difficulty, as if he'd resigned himself to this curse.

"I'm too drunk, you know?" he stated in a slurry speech. Willow's brow flinched in anger, her mouth curling for a snarl.

"Too drunk for me to destroy you? You must be joking, it only makes it so much easier to dive into your pathetic mind."

"No…" said Xander as he returned his attention to the near empty flask. "You got it all wrong. I'm too drunk to give a damn. Go ahead, Lecterize me, I don't give a shit anymore."

"Don't try to ignore me, Harris! I've got ways to make you care!" 

He just giggled in response to her violent outburst, his left hand discretely slipping into his blue arm support, reaching in for the pistol he dissimulated there. He pounced to his feet, the gun cocking in Willow's face. She didn't seem bothered or surprised, her features, in fact, were relaxing as if this was what she had desired.

"I don't think you want me to care, bitch. Tickling my trigger is a one way road."

"Go ahead shoot me, Xander. Do it, if you got what it takes, Xand. Shoot your bestest bud in the face, make me your martyr again. Do it! You took everything from me, ignored my affection when we were growing up, hurt my feelings, let Buffy, let my best friend die. You're pathetic! Do it Xander, it's fitting that you'd be the one to finish it, Zeppo."

"Shut up, you fuckin' whore!"

Faith swallowed hard. She had expected this conversation to swing down the path of insults, but this was degenerating faster than she had thought it would. The gun in her face, the sound of the NY's nightlife coming from beyond the trees of the empty park, she suddenly asked herself if Xander could really be all that pissed. _"I did break his arm,"_ she thought to herself, _"and then there's the whole betrayal deal, but what's petty things like that between two old friends?"_

"Boy Toy, just chill for a sec, will ya?" she said, her concern returning as she voiced her warnings a second time. "I don't think you get me, you're in trouble. Mason's got this witch pulling this mindgame on you. I came to warn you that I don't think she's interested in just…"

"Shut up! Who do you think you're fooling!"

"Xander?" said Faith weakly, a little more afraid this time.

Buffy stood before Xander, where Willow had been only moments ago. She winced in pain, the sword wound open wide on her belly. Blood flew like a river, and she gasped and moaned, seemingly in terrible torment.

"It hurts, Xander," she pleaded, "It hurts so much, honey! Please, make it stop."

"You know what to do," whispered Willow maliciously in his right ear, when Xander turned his head she had already vanished, speaking now in his left ear. "Free her, Xander, press the trigger. She needs you. Make her pain stop."

"Please Xander, it's me. Help me, please. If you love me you'll press the trigger."

"I don't love you! You're not Buffy. You're a cheap imitation. You're nothing like her, you're nothing period."

In an instant, it was as if the gun had disappeared. All her senses melted into oblivion, she heard only the words leaving Xander's mouth, over and over again. Words like a scalpel dicing her heart, stripping her naked to the essence of her being, suddenly she was exposed; the dreaded fears and secrets revealed for the world to see. She whished for a second the sound she had heard had been that of bullet shattering her skull. It would have been a sweet embrace compared to the words. They made her trembled, and she couldn't tell if she had been able to suppress the tears, or the look of hurt on her face. 

Buffy. Always Buffy.

Anger grew inside her, a fury which hell had never known. Her face contorted into a mask of intensity, her body as tense as rock; her fingers cracking under the pressure of her clenched fists.

"You Son of a Bitch!"

"I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction," responded Xander, his eyes reflecting the seed of madness, the total insanity now scratching at the door of his soul.

"C'mon, do it! Pull the trigger. I'll be waitin' for you in hell, where we both belong. You best kill me Harris, cuz I ain't gonna be sayin' hello next time I see ya." 

Xander's eyes lit up, what thought when through his mind Faith couldn't phantom, but her heart skipped a beat when she saw his finger tighten around the trigger. 

"You there! Put down that weapon!" a voice yelled somewhere to her right. She turned her head and saw two policemen drawing their sidearms. Unfortunately for them, Xander had already spun halfway to meet their threats. 

Xander fired at the two demons rushing him from the left. Their heads half-exploding as their respective bullet traveled through their craniums. Suddenly they lied dead, and a feeling of uneasiness, of nausea overcame him. A sick laughter, barely akin to Willow came storming from all around and after spinning frantically he spotted her standing over the bodies of two policemen. The realization of what he had just done hit him like a ton of brick. Horror and nausea overcame his mind as he stared helplessly at the gory tableau. He knew right away the shame he was feeling would only grow and deepen as sobriety took its evil toll.

Willow's laughter slowly came to an end, and silence escaped her mouth as she mouthed off a sentence before phasing out into nothingness. "I now rest on a bed of dead sparrows, realizing happiness lives in between shadows." 

Xander was taken aback by a strange sense of familiarity, the words were known to him. Was this one of the poems Willow used to read him growing up, one of the many he had only half listened to? These thoughts clouded his mind as he instinctively jumped on his bike and tore off away from his murder scene, and instead toward the meat packing district, where he knew he'd be unlikely to be a threat to anyone but himself. Guilt rode along side with him as he looked back one last time at the two dead uniformed cops. 

The poem. The answered lied in the poem, he was sure of that much.

As he disappeared away in the distance, Faith stood up from behind the tree she had dove behind as soon as Xander had been distracted. She cracked her neck from side to side, anger not giving way, but a cold resolve setting in nonetheless. Xander's words would not be forgotten, he could never be forgiven. She wasn't Buffy, she could never be Miss.Perfect-little-Buffy. But that didn't matter anymore. She wouldn't go away, her vengeance wouldn't wait. Damnation rang her doorbell tonight and she would open the door, once and for all, dragging him along with her.

"The key to focus is first understanding yourself," Xander remembered Hojiro saying this to him one August night as he struck him repeatedly with a bamboo stick. Xander was supposed to meditate under this duress, something he was nowhere close to mastering at the time. "But not in a superficial way, like all those self-help book suggest. You must come to understand every muscle of your body, every inches and molecules. You must be able to taste the very fabric of your soul."

"That's funny, my soul tastes just like blood-- no wait, that's the blood from you beating me in the face with a stick!" he had responded annoyed.

"Xander, I've already given you almost all the tools you'll ever require. Now you just need to develop them. C'mon again, take the position."

As he remembered this, Xander looked around the abandoned warehouse he had picked. She would find him soon, and it would all end, one way or another. The floor was a crooked maze of holes and discarded junk, some of which was long rotted meat. Rats were rampant but knew better than to approach the stranger invading their habitat as he knelt in the seiza position, right in the middle of one of the many squares of light that were projected from the broken windows above. Winter was coming and Xander could feel it's gentle presence in the dark of the night. Looking right and left, he realized he was roughly in the middle of the gigantic room. 

He lowered the pistol in front of him, slipping his broken arm out of the blue support. His fingers crossed roughly into the position he'd been taught to use to promote introspection. Fu. Wind. The Wind remembered everything; it carried the dust of the past and the memories of people and things long forgotten. Two years of running away, and now he had to dive back and embrace the pain once more. The answer lied somewhere in the poem and the poem lied in some long forgotten memory. The floodgate would be forever brought down, and Xander borrowed the sensitivity of the Wind element to bring the harmony he needed, now more than ever. There was no more running away.

Standing in the shadows of a sub-urban house, he watched coldly as Special Agent Clark ushered his kids in the backseat before jumping into the driving seat of the SUV. A late night run to the MacDonald no doubt, the fat little bald man did seem to love his kids very much. That sort of thing happened, Xander thought, a father loving his kids. 

It had been a two weeks since he and Faith had quit Dragon-12. Riley hadn't blamed Xander for leaving, he had been tempted to do the same himself, and there was no question where Faith's only loyalty lied. Xander and Riley had used their high security clearance to rack up enough government and NSA dirt to ensure there wouldn't be a repeat of the assassination attempt. In case of either Xander and Faith's death or imprisonment, a package would be automatically delivered to every news organization in the world, effectively giving them the kind of immunity diplomats dream about.

Xander watched as Agent Clark answered his cell phone, his voice coming on Xander's own.

"Special Agent Clark."

"Guess who's not dead," there was only silence to answer Xander's question, and soon he continued. "But since your NSA, I bet you already knew that."

"What do you want, Captain? We already received your memo. I can assure you, you're quite safe from us."

"I know that Clark, but you see I got like… this anger management problem. Plus I warned you what would happen if you fucked with people I cared about."

"Captain I…"

"You should have come after me alone, I wouldn't have taken it personal then."

"Listen, if you want to come after me that's find I'm sure you already know…"

"I'm staring at you right now." 

Agent Clark looked up and met Xander's eyes from across the street. Xander could see he was trembling, realizing from instinct what was going on. "At least let the kids get out of the car… please, they've done nothing to you."

"Neither had my men to you-- Sorry, Clark. It must be one of those days, because I just can't bring myself to care."

His finger slid onto the button of the remote detonator has Clark yelled for his kids to get out, but they never had a chance. The car exploded before Xander's eyes and in his drunken haze, he savored every snapshot of this fireworks. Inside his rage and hatred were soothed a moment, the filling sensation of a good meal quenching his hunger for vengeance. But it wasn't all, Xander took pleasure in the baseness of his action, the thrill of power rushing over him. For a moment he had been god, choosing who lived and who died, and he loved every second of it. His heart was cold as ice. He couldn't feel a twinge of remorse, and he wouldn't, not until the next morning.

Buffy couldn't face it, wouldn't face it. They were no more different, he and Giles. They didn't speak much of it, understanding the particular tragedy this was for Buffy. No one wanted to say it, but Angel's name came to everyone's mind. The solution was there though, for all to see, but only Spike brought himself to that realization. He stalked off one evening after debating it for about a week and decided the right thing to do was to take care of it himself. Sure, Buffy would hate him, probably even drive a stake through his chest, but when you love someone, sometimes you do what's best for them regardless of the consequences. He couldn't let her go through it again. 

His only mistake to his little plan was the round of goodbyes he distributed as discreetly has he could. It didn't take long before the gang pieced it together. They went rushing after him, Buffy mad as hell.

Xander's eyes snapped open as he heard the rats squeaking in the distance. She was here, and it was by far too early, he hadn't found what he was looking for yet, but it didn't matter now, the wheels were in motion his mind would bring him the answer. He closed back his eyes, trusting his instinct better than his senses. He reached out with his feelings and found her presence somewhere, radiating hatred and power. Somehow he wasn't scared, he had the serenity of a samurai, waiting on his second to commit seppuku.

"Couldn't stay away from me, could you? I'm told I have this effect on women."

"Xander, you are the living proof that a sense of humor is not a sign of intelligence," she answered back, and suddenly Xander felt something gnawing at his mind. Somehow he could feel her reaching in, and without quite knowing how he fought back.

"Focus, Xander," he could almost hear Hojiro's thought, "Focus your thoughts."

"Go on, fight me. You can't keep me out for long, and I think I'd prefer to tear your mind apart."

Xander thought of fire, water, earth, air and of void. All the elements combined together and formed perfection, pure energy that flew through him and fueled his defenses. He was the mountain, the burning inferno, the white squall, the tsunami, the very fabric of the universe. He reached out and he felt her. Xander's eyes opened, and thought he could not see her, he knew where she really was. His left hand snapped like a whip and he picked up the pistol, drawing it like a sword, as if he were a Iado master. The shot that rang out was accompanied by a wail of pain. Seconds later, she appeared, her back to him, a figure in a purple domino, limping rapidly for safety, her leg bleeding from the bullet wound.. Xander fired once again but missed barely as she ducked around a corner, heading for the stairs. 

There would be no more running.

" 'Figured you'd be here, Red."

"Spike, what a pleasant surprise," answered Willow has she dropped the dead body of a child on the floor. "What owes me this visit, business… or pleasure. I do hope pleasure, you wouldn't believe how flexible this body is." She stood at the old mansion, almost where Acathla had been standing years before. Spike had known the Soulburner would have a flair for the dramatic. Only a week had passed, it only had been allowed to exist for a week, and already the room was filled with the dead bodies of more people than Angelus had racked up in three months. 

"Sorry, Red. Pure business," he answered as he raised the browning 9mm. He almost had time to fire it when his arm broke at the elbow with a wave of Willow's wrist. The pistol fell to the floor as a groan escaped his lips. 

"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with you, William, Vampires do take so long to die," she smiled evilly as she approached him. Spike's face distorted itself into his vampire features as he set the bone back in. He roared.

"That's right, luv. I am a vampire, and I'm not dead just yet," said Spike as he took a swing at her head.

_I planted a tree and watched it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow._

The words rang out a distant truth in Xander's mind as he walked careful across the third floor of the warehouse. He stalked after his adversary with decisiveness, following the trail of blood her injured leg had left behind. He could still feel her striking at his mind, slowly prying every little defense he had left. Soon she would be inside once more, tearing whatever was left of his sanity to shred. He kept low, moving in a crouch out of some instinct for stealth that was probably wasted on a creature with these magical abilities. The floor creaked and moaned, as if wailing for the tragedy that was yet to happen. Somebody was going to die tonight and Xander had to hurry if he didn't want it to be him.

Suddenly she was there, standing in the middle of a darkened hallway, a dozen meters or so ahead of him. Her face was half hidden in the shadows and though he had a clear shot, Xander didn't take it. Something felt off, it was all too easy. She just stood serenely, waiting to die, inviting it. He started stepping carefully forward, and than faster, wanting to close the distance between them. A warmth invaded the skin on his chest, and as he took another step forward, Buffy appeared, her face was full of urgency. 

"Xander! Stop!"

He looked down as his body jerked itself backward for balance, his foot hung over a break in the floorboard; where the floor had been moments ago, there was only a deadly fall to one's probable demise. When he looked up Willow was gone, but the image of Buffy remained smiling shyly at him.

"I can help you, if you let me."

Without saying a word, Xander navigated around the pitfall in front of him and continued his search for Willow. There was an added problem now, as she could already affect his mind. He fought hard not to let the realization that he probably had already lost this engagement, and harder not to look back at Buffy. Instead, he simply went on his way doubling his urgency.

_I planted a tree and watched it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow._

Xander saw images of a note suddenly. Yellowed paper, left on a bed somewhere, carefully plumed ink, tracing three lines of poetry.

"Anybody ever told you, you hit like a bird, mate?" asked Spike with false, almost comical bravado as he forced himself to his feet. He wavered like a drunkard, supporting himself with his hands pressed on his knees as he spat out some blood, catching the breath he didn't have. He raised his bruised and cut face, and charged once more at Willow with a roar. She still looked as amused by this display as she had had the last ten times he had tried this.

"I am a girl, Spike," she said as she casually backhanded him, making him crumple to the ground. "If you want, I'm sure we can find a way of proving that to you. Wouldn't that be so much better than this?" 

The door broke down under Buffy's foot, and the entire Scoobie gang poured inside, all wielding weapons. Spike was lying on his back bloodied and fighting hard to retain consciousness as Willow towered over him, but Buffy was yelling way before she could take this sight into consideration. 

"Spike! How dare you? You don't have the right to make this decision! I'm not gonna let you kill Willow!"

"Alright, Slayer," he coughed up as rolled onto his belly and raised himself painfully to a kneeling position. "I'll spare Red, but only cuz you're asking… Cuz I was totally kicking her ass."

Suddenly the sight of the deadbodies everywhere was taken in by everyone and even Buffy could hardly contain her disgust. "My god! Willow."

"I think I'm gonna hurl," stated Dawn, covering her mouth.

"Buffy," whispered Giles in her ear. "She must be stopped."

"Well I'm so glad you could all come," said Willow softly, "I've got something to share with all of you, but I won't lie, I doubt any of you will like it." The grin on her face grew as brisk wind blew the doors shut behind the gang.

_I woke in sweat and saw a grave man, holding my lover's bloodied hand._

He knew it. He could almost feel it, it was on the tip of his tongue. He felt the pang of guilt surging through the memory of that note. His bloodied hand crumpling it to a ball.

Pain.

Suddenly, he felt the lick of the fiery whip on his back once more. Where he had been standing in the middle of large room full of boxes, stacked like gigantic partitions, a labyrinth of discarded junk and rotten meat, he was now in Asmodeus torture chamber. The rancid smell of meat, replaced by the scent of sulfur. 

"No," he told himself as he spun around firing in all direction. "She's playing with your mind, it's not real. You've got to fight it, push it down."

The sword protruding from Buffy's back.

His sword at Angel's throat. "I told you I'd be there."

The screams of his men.

Feeling pleasure as he watched Clark and his two kids burn to a blacken crisp.

"It's not real, keep fighting it, push it all down," he kept repeating to himself as he bounced from stacks to stacks, breathless, looking wild as an animal.

The fight was horrible. Fighting Willow felt like fighting a part of themselves, and they lost no matter what happened. She matched Buffy in every way, laughing as if bringing herself down to face the Slayer physically was all a big joke. Every once in a while, she throw a quick spell that Tara did her best to nullify. Willow would wave a hand and a magical force would propel someone through the air and into a wall or a pile of dead bodies.

Spike and Xander paused a moment, watching the stalemate between the Slayer and her once best friend. As he watched, he realized quickly what Spike voiced discreetly to him. 

"She's not giving it all she's got, mate. Bloody hell, she's gonna get herself killed soon."

"What do you suppose we do?" asked Xander angry and annoyed, "Tell her to fight harder? Cheer her on?"

"I say you provide a little distraction, just give me a clear shot, I'll take care of it."

"You're insane!" yelled Xander as he grabbed the vampire by his shirt. "I'm not gonna help you kill my best friend. We're not killing, Willow!"

"You're right, we're not killing Willow. She already dead, Harris. We're killing a puppet, that's bleedin' all. I couldn't care less if she killed a hundred people a day, Harris, but eventually, she's gonna kill one of us. She might even kill Buffy or Nibblet and I'm not gonna let that happen. You're gonna have to get it through your thick head that Red is gone. Ask yourself what she would have wanted."

Giles yell of pain interrupted their conversation, as his arm folded backwards breaking severely in two places. 

_ _

_I now rest on a bed of dead sparrows, realizing happiness lives in between shadows._

Yes! Yes! He could almost remember now. The paper, he read it…

That evening in Faith's arms. Walking away from her in Portmammock.

The drugs.

The violence.

The women.

Waking in sweat.

Anya's face, sudden death, without any goodbyes.

Kissing Buffy's bloddied mouth, kissing her one last time.

The warm blood splattering on his face.

Guilt.

Vertigo.

His mind was being torn apart and he roared. Willow's laughter vibrated all around her image was everywhere. He knew from instinct he probably only had one round left, and he was tempted to end it all by turning the gun on himself. He felt as if in a madhouse, the room spinning around him with dreadful clowns everywhere.

"I can help you, if you'll just take my hand," said Buffy, the warmth returning.

"You're not Buffy, you're Skoll. Take another shape. I want nothing to do with you otherwise."

"Stop being immature, Xander. I am Skoll, but I am also Buffy. I have no form, no voice, no existence, I needed to borrow one from you. I brought to life the part of Buffy that was still with you. And here we are, as one, and it is too late for me to change persona, for as far as I'm concern, this is me. I am Buffy and have always been, but at the same time I know I'm Skoll and it's all very confusing. But let me help you, please. I don't think the part of me that has crossed would want you to give up. Take my hand, let me show you."

Xander stared at her hand. She didn't sound quite like Buffy, but somehow he still trusted her image. Somehow he knew she wasn't lying, that she would keep him safe. Free him from the pain and the mind rape he was being subjected to. His hand slipped into hers and as she pulled him forward and kissed him, he felt warmth come over him. He saw his life, as if it were a movie, flash before his eyes, and for the first time in years, he felt a brief moment of peace coming over him. He accepted it finally; he accepted everything that had happened. He had reached, for now at least, a Zen-like state. 

Spike's body bounced of a wall before falling unconscious on a top of dead children. He was out for the count and Xander felt something coming over him, a strange kind of dread, as if he could taste the morrow. 

Buffy and Willow were at a stand still. Buffy stood on one side of the room, Giles crossbow in her hands, as a drained Willow theatrically offered herself up as a target. She laughed and scowled at Buffy's reluctance to fire.

"Do it Buffy! There's no other way," yelled out Giles. He held back a furious Tara, while Dawn stood by helplessly, unsure of what to do, or whom to side with.

"She won't do it, Ripper. She might be a slayer, but let's face it, she's pathetic. She barely has any killer instinct at all."

"Giles… I can't…"

"Ah C'mon, don't give up so easily. C'mon, take your best shot, you'll never get me so weak again. Tara there sure looks like she won't help you drain me next time, guess you had her real confused about what you came up here to do. Stop playing slayer, do or do not, there is no try, as nerd ass Xander over there would put it."

There were no puns, no comebacks. Xander never heard Buffy's reply, his eyes instead fixed on the Browning 9mm on the floor, his yet to be given wedding gift from Spike. It lied there, carrying a message, a beckoning for the task it had been brought here to accomplish. Slow motion settled in; he threw a glance at the unconscious vampire, and then one at a trembling Buffy. Then the corpses all around invaded his visions, a terrible guilt and disgust rising in him. His eyes finally met up with Giles, who seemed almost taken aback by the sight of tears forming in Xander's eyes. The young man nodded, and Giles returned it, completing a silent exchange, an instinctive understanding.

"Dawn," yelled Giles, "help me get Tara out of here. Now!"

"Noooooo!" 

Dawn complied as Tara fought only more arduously. Giles dragged them out of sight, throwing one last sympathetic glance at the young man, who swallowed hard, his own gaze fixated on Buffy.

"What? You can't handle another Angel, is that it?"

"Please, I'll give you anything you want. Take me instead… please."

"Oh for crying out loud! Are you still on negotiation? Are you still at that stage of grieving. For someone who deals with death all the time, you sure don't go through the steps very quickly. You people are…"

Her sentence was stopped midway by the sound of a gun being cocked. Simultaneously, she felt cold metal being pressed against her temple. She turned her eyes slowly, to see Xander trembling as he held the pistol. He looked horrified, yet determined.

"… pathetic."

"Do you really want that to be your last words?" asked Xander nervously stalling.

"Can it Zeppo," said Willow dismissively. Buffy was frozen across the room, staring at the scene with complete confusion as what to hope for, but a resolve to stay as far away from any decision as possible. "You don't have what it takes. Even the slayer here can't do it."

"I'm not her."

"That's right, Xander. You're not, you're just the pathetic sidekick. Why don't you put the gun down, you're embarrassing yourself. You're not gonna do anything, and I'm just gonna keep on killing, and killing, until I decide to finally come after you. Did you really believe, you could shoot me Xander? You couldn't live with the guilt…"

"Maybe not…" he replied weakly.

The blood. The warm blood splattered on his face. The loud pop of the Browning 9mm in his hands was distant and hollow. And he watched, filled with horror and guilt, as Willow' head jerked back, slingshoted by the force of the bullet traveling through her brain and ripping the back of her head as it exited. A red mist floated down long after her body hit the ground; she would never to hear him complete his sentence, "… but I'll learn to." 

Willow had a look of disbelief on her face, blood starting to flow over her features. He turned to Buffy, as the pistol slipped out of his grip. She stood frozen across the room, tears in her eyes. He could hear desperate wailing coming from outside.

"That's what she would have wanted," he said, his face drained of all colors, but the tears still firmly held on the edge of his eyes. He turned away before she could say anything and managed a few steps before collapsing to his knees. He made no sound, staring intensely at the floor, until he felt Buffy's arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

And Xander broke down. They both started crying in each other arms, looking for comfort they weren't sure they could find.

Suddenly there was only silence, the chattering voices having died with the visions. He now stood at a crossroad between four wall-sized stacks of boxes, and he turned slowly when he caught a glimpse of a woman in a purple robe. Waving her arms in frustration, repeating incantations after inactions, with no apparent result. He felt her attacks, but they were pointless, drained away just as fast by Skoll. He slowly walked toward her, his face relaxed, a somewhat sad expression on it.

"Work, Dammit! Work! I'm not done with you yet, Murderer!" she screamed at him. "Goddess Hecate, grant me thy…"

"Stop it—it won't work anymore," he said softly, his voice full of sympathy.

"No! You're gonna pay for what you did! Goddess Hecate, I b…"

"Stop it, it's over, now. You're magic won't work on me, not anymore."

"…I b-b-bind…th-thy Goddess Hec-hecate"

"Stop it-- Tara."

Tara looked up when she heard her name; she pushed the hood of her face, revealing her long blond hair. Her face had become hardened over the years since Xander had last seen her; gone was the sweet and shy young woman he had known. He remembered now, the note he had found on her bed when he had went to her apartment, after escaping Buffy's watchful guard, after wandering the streets for hours and taking on those three vampires attacking that Japanese kid, and after meeting Hojiro at the hospital. She had already packed up and left, and the words on that yellowed parchment had told the tale of her departure. 

_"I planted a tree and watched it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow. _

_I woke in sweat and saw a grave man, holding my lover's bloodied hand._

_I now rest on a bed of dead sparrows, realizing happiness lives in between shadows."_

Her eyes were full of rage, with only a hint of surprise at the use of her name. He stopped within arm reach of her, and gave her another sad smile. 

"Don't look so surprised, it's not like I got smart or anything. You're the one who told me. You wanted me to know it was you, so you could truly have your revenge; you needed me to know it was you that was doing this to me. That's why you were mouthing that poem."

"I thanked the goddess when I found out you where the guy Mason had hired me to burn. It was fate, giving me what I've longed for, for the past five years. I was going to get paid to make you suffer. You're a murderer, Xander Harris, and it's time you give the devil his due. And don't think because my magic isn't working on you that you're safe, there are other ways for me to kill you."

"You're right about that, Tara," said Xander, and he suddenly raised the pistol toward her, presenting the butt of the weapon.

"Wh-what do you think you're doing?"

"My life is yours, Tara. It always was, all you ever needed to do was ask."

"No…" she spat after a moment of shock. "No, I'm not going to l-let you g-get all noble. You're gonna pay, you deserve to die like a dog."

"Tara, you've just been inside my mind for the last twenty-four hours, I think you'd agree with me that noble, isn't exactly something you'd pin on me. I deserve to die. I failed her, just like I failed Cordy, Anya and Buffy… and Faith too. If my death can bring you a smidget of peace than do it, because frankly, I'm not sure I can keep on going anyways. I loose… I fail everybody I love, I watch them slip away and die…"

"You didn't love her! Don't lie! You didn't love her. If you did you wouldn't have killed her."

"Hey!" yelled Xander violently enough to make Tara jump back, "I loved Willow, I will always love Willow. I loved her years before you even knew she existed. Say what you want about me, I am scum, I am a worthless murderer, but I loved Willow, and you damn know it too. Killing her was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and if I was given another chance I wouldn't go through with it. I would have died instead of her if I could had, I would still, and more than that, looking back, I'd gladly trade the lives of hundreds of people a week just to have some piece of her still be with us… but Willow wouldn't have wanted it that way…"

"How d-dare you!" spat Tara as tears flooded her face, "How dare you! Willow wouldn't have wanted this! She n-never would have left me…"

"Willow wasn't the only one that died that evening, Tara. If you want to finish the job…"

"Shut up!" shrieked Tara as she launched herself at Xander. Her hand flew wildly as she inexpertly flailed him with punches and slaps at his faces and his torso. Xander took them without protest, his sad smile returning as Tara's sob pierced through the sound of her intermittent yelling. "Shut up! I hate you! Fight back dammit, I want you too sufferer." Her voices weakened and so did her blows as the sobs grew louder and louder, eventually overcoming her. "You bastard! She wouldn't have wanted this, she never would have wanted this."

She fell and Xander caught her, he pulled her into a tight hug that she hesitantly returned after trying to fight her way out of it for a moment. "She never would have wanted to leave me, she never would have done this t-to m-me…n-never w-would have left me a-lone."

"You know that's not true, Tara. Willow knew you had us to take care of you. If only you'd let us. I would have left if you'd asked." Tara's arms tightened like iron around Xander's torso and she buried her face on his shoulder, her crying becoming one long wailed.

"I just w-want her b-back… I loved her so much."

"I know, Tara, I know." They stayed there for a moment on their knees, amid a palace of broken things and discarded junk. They knelt in an hallow of light coming from above holding on to each other as if kingdom came, their stares fixed in opposite direction of the hallway. They were frozen in time, their skin in this light taking on the a pale gray color of marble, as if they really were some statue abandoned with the rest of the trinkets.

"I'm s-s-sorry… I hated you so m-much, thought I could k-ill the p-pain along with y-you. I just wanted my Willow back."

"No, I'm sorry, Tara. I wish there was a way I could give her back to you… to us."

"Oh my god," said Tara as she cupped her mouth in horror. "The t-two c-cops… I-I was s-so blind with rage…I made y-you"

"Forget about it," said Xander as he pulled her back into the hug. He stared of into the distance as she clung to him like salvation itself. "I took the shot. Shit happens, good people die; the whole world is gonna burn anyway." 

"But I m-made you… the things I did to you…"

"I can live with a little more guilt, Tara. That's the funny thing about guilt, once you reach a certain amount, you sort of plateau. Anyways, all you really made me do Tara, is realize that some things aren't meant to stay in the past. Shit happens…" 

"… Good people die…" she said joining in.

"… Love fades away…"

"… Friends t-turn to enemies…"

"… But sometimes, just some times…"

"… Families are reunited…."

The dust had settled in the gang's little house in the Bronx where Garrett, his nose and pinkie all bandaged up, whined loudly at the damage that had been dealt to his precious rug and sofa. Katrina rolled her eyes, but still indulged him in his complaining, while Marcus grunted as he and Sanaz placed down the new television they had just purchased to replace its deceased predecessor.

"You know, maybe you should ease up on Xan a bit, I mean there is the whole 'not on purpose, just sort of crazy because something is messing with my mind' excuse that kind of give him my votes on the forgiveness scale."

"Listen, Katrina, I'm not one to be self-centered, much less to hold a grudge," said Garrett, raising a few eyebrows in the room, " but in this case, I'm willing to make an exception—He shot the TV, that makes it personal. Nobody shoots my TV."

"Ah c'mon, we got a brand new one, dog. High definition, digital, better picture…. Man, I can't wait to see how Cordelia Chase is gonna look on this thing."

"Listen, the new TV is all good and all, but who gets suckered into paying for it, huh? Just because I'm rich, it doesn't mean you guys can just keep exploiting me like this."

"I-I'll pay for it," said an unfamiliar voice from the hallway. The group turned around to see a blonde woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in blue jeans and a purple tank top. She fiddled with her hair nervously and was careful to avoid their stares. Xander stood next to the strange woman, laying his hand on her shoulder to offer some support.

"Guys, I'd like you to meet my friend Tara."

Xander sighed as he sat on his bed, slipping off his shoes and dressing down to his boxers. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Tara had agreed to stay in town for a week so they could catch up before heading back to Seattle where she lived now and tonight had been so much fun, though he did feel a bit guilty about fueling Garrett's fantasy that he had a shot with Tara. However, imagining the look on his face once he would find out just how much he didn't come close to being her type by far made up for it. 

After she apologized for what she had put them threw, the awkwardness quickly faded and soon the evening had turned into a small shin-ding. His friends never pried into her reasons or tried to dig for more than a few funny anecdotes about Xander's past; they respect his privacy and he took note of that and the fact he was so lucky to have friends that were so understanding. 

He thought about that for a moment, and realized the pain of this experience had really brought him some wisdom. He wouldn't run from his past anymore.

He pulled out his photo album, and other articles he had kept buried inside his drawer; no longer would he allowed them to lie dormant. After today they would be displayed for the world to see. He slipped a photo of the old gang inside a silver frame; Buffy, Willow, Giles, Riley, Dawn, Joyce, Tara and Anya. He hadn't known which one to use at first but this one had called out to him for some reason, probably because that was the last time he remembered everyone being happy and alive. Then came the second frame, a golden one that someone called for a terribly hard decision to be made. After careful deliberation, he realized there had only really been one option all along and slipped the photo of him and Faith together in Portmammock. Somehow, it felt like the right one to pick.

As nostalgia came over him from staring at Faith's beautiful face, he dug into his treasure chest once more and pulled out a familiar CD, not noticing the sound of his window being gently slid open. 

Faith had climbed up the side of the house with ease and had waited carefully for the right moment to sneak into the room itself. As Xander busied himself with his stereo Faith swung a leg inside the room and then the other, her feet landing soundlessly on the floor. Her mind was chattering with angry screams and hundreds of images, slow motion replays of her killing Xander in more and more creative ways. She silently drew her pistol; sometimes creativity isn't worth the trouble. She had a thirst for his blood; her features cold as the same ice her heart had been carved out from. She raised the pistol and aimed it at his unsuspecting head.

_ _

_"Here's a health to you bonny Kellswater, where you get all the pleasures of life, _

_Where you get all the fishing and fowling, and a bonny wee lass for your wife."_

Xander had just pressed play when he felt a presence behind him; he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had let down his guard. He was about to spin around when he heard the cocking of a pistol. He tensed up, for an instant and then resigned himself just as the first notes from "Kellswater" started playing. Somehow he knew who it was.

_ _

_"Oh it's down where yon waters run muddy, I'm afraid they will never run clear,_

_And it's when I begin for to study, my mind is on him that's not here."_

"What are you waiting for, Faith? You got me," he asked without turning to face her. His body relaxed and he waited patiently and with very little fear for her to finish the job. "If it means anything to you… I'm sorry."

_ _

_"And it's this one and that one may court him, but if any one gets him but me,_

_It's early and late I will curse them, the parting lovely Willie from me."_

"Shut up! I don't need your pity!" she yelled, loosing her cool. At hearing "Kellswater" come onto the stereo, her resolved face at instantly melted to confusion. She trembled shifting her weight back and forward, unsure of what to do now. Between the anger and the memories rushing in, she had no idea of what she wanted anymore.

_ _

_"Oh a father he calls on his daughter, two choices I'll give unto thee,_

_Would you rather see Willie's ship a sailing, see him hung like a dog on yonder tree."_

"I know you don't… so why don't you get on with it?" he stated stoically.

"Oh father, dear father, I love him I can no longer bide it from thee, 

_Through an acre of fire I would travel, along with the lovely Willie to be."_

She raised and lowered the pistol a few times cursing herself silently, jumping back from one desire to the other, and round again. She raised the gun one last time, and put on a brave face, her features reflecting anger. Her breathing accelerated, becoming more and more audible. Her finger started to tighten around the trigger when she suddenly caught a glimpse of the picture in the golden frame…

_"Oh hard was the heartbreak I'm finding, she took from her full heart's delight,_

_May the chains of old Ireland come find them, and softly their pillows at night."_

The pistol made a large thud when it hit the ground. Xander's eyes shot opened in surprise; he had been wondering why this was taking so long, but now he was positively confused. He slowly turned around and took an instant to analyze the strange expression on Faith's face.

_"Oh yonder there's a ship on the ocean, and she does not know which way to steer,_

_From the east and the west she's a-blowing, she reminds me of the charms of my dear."_

"How 'bout a time out?" she asked almost pleadingly, her voice as weak as he'd ever heard it.

_"Oh it's yonder my Willie will be coming, he said he'd be here in the spring,_

_And it's down by yon green shades I'll meet him, and among wild roses we'll sing."_

Faith's heart skipped a beat when Xander turned away from her without saying anything. "_I'm so stupid!" _she thought to herself, "_I should have known better." _Her thoughts were halted by the sound of the door being locked. She looked up from the floor and saw Xander staring deeply into her eyes. She had never been more scared in her life.

_"For a gold ring be placed on my finger, saying love bear this in your mind,_

_If ever I sail from old Ireland, you'll mind I'll not leave you behind."_

Without saying another word they moved simultaneously into each other's embrace, as if they were pulled by some gravitational force. Their lips met in a passionate kiss that grew exponentially, their hunger for each other consuming them completely. Faith hurriedly discarded her clothes as they made their way toward the bed, breaking their passion only for the briefest of moments. Their breath accelerating together, their hearts becoming synchronous; they entered a dance they had both long forgotten. For an instant in their troubled lives, nothing mattered anymore but the thirst they felt for each other, and how many hours they had until morning.

_"Here's a health to you bonny Kellswater, where you get all the pleasures of life,_

_Where you get all the fishing and fowling, and a bonny wee lass for your wife."_

COMING SOON!!!

BETWEEN SHADOWS episode VITHE ART OF WAR


End file.
